The Interlude
by kazooband
Summary: They settled back into their old roles with an eerie ease, talking and pacing and arguing and assuring like the war still wasn’t over, for maybe it wasn’t, maybe they had been foolish to think that the war would end with Voldemort. COMPLETE.
1. Right Now I'm Alive

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, airplanes, rockets, and satellites are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. Additionally, most chapter titles are lifted lyrics from songs. This one is from "Caught Up in a Dream," by Tesla.

Author's Note: This was written as a prequel to another one of my stories, "The End." Aside from spoiling some major points of that story, I think that this can be read alone. If you disagree, please let me know and I'll see what I can do to make things clearer.

Also, "The End" was begun before Half-Blood Prince was released, and although I've corrected most of it for the new canon, there is one element that I thought was best left alone, and it bleeds into this story a bit. In this story, Side-Along Apparition is extremely difficult and dangerous, to the point that hardly anyone ever tries it, and most who do come off the worst for it. I apologize for any confusion this may create.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 1: Right Now I'm Alive**

It felt like he was in a thick fog or deep underwater. Yes, underwater, that was it. The charmed sleep he'd been placed in for the second task prevented him from remembering the incident, but he supposed it must have felt something like this. Everything felt fuzzy and far away, and while he couldn't see, he could hear many people around him, all talking at once. It sounded like gibberish; all garbled and confused, until someone leaned close and commanded, "Let's get him on a bed!"

"He's not breathing!" someone else exclaimed.

He choked on something and all of a sudden, the fuzz around his brain cleared slightly. He couldn't tell who they were talking about, but it sounded like whoever it was must be in a fair amount of trouble.

"Ronald Weasley!" someone shouted in his ear. "You're at Saint Mungo's. We're trying to save you, can you wake up?"

Oh. It had never occurred to Ron that he might be the person in trouble. He tried to prove that he was awake, but his ears seemed to be the only things that were connected.

"What happened to him?"

"He got cursed." The voice sounded familiar to Ron, but he couldn't place it.

"What spell?"

"I don't know, I'd never seen it before. There was no incantation."

"That's alright, sit down, son. You should have known better than to try and Apparate with him."

"I'm not leaving. He's my friend."

Harry! The voice was Harry. In spite of himself, Ron couldn't help feeling relieved. Harry wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"Harry! Are you alright! What about Ron!"

"I'm fine, Hermione, but Ron, he's…"

"Oh, Ron!"

That voice wasn't Hermione's, it was his Mum's. Ron wished more than anything that he could give some sort of sign to prove he was alright.

"Healers, ready!" someone unfamiliar said.

"No, wait!" Harry exclaimed. "I already tried, magic only makes it-"

"Finite Incantatum!" several voices shouted at once.

There was a collective gasp around him. Ron heard a voice screaming and slowly realized that it was his own.

---------------------

The first thing Ron noticed when he woke up was that he wasn't where he was when he had fallen asleep, or gotten knocked out, rather. At least, he assumed he wasn't, because the last thing he remembered happened considerably earlier than the last thing he thought he'd been awake for.

The next thing Ron noticed was that he couldn't feel his right arm. He tried to flex his bicep, but if it worked he couldn't tell, so he desisted and settled for attempting to wiggle his fingers instead, but was met with no success at all. Ron immediately became worried that sometime in between what he last remembered and when he woke up, he'd managed to lose his arm.

With this thought, Ron attempted to sit up, and, thus, the third thing he noticed was a shaking, bushy haired someone pushing him gently back into his pillow. He would have fought his way back up again if his head wasn't swimming so badly or if he hadn't already caught a glimpse of his arm. It was covered from fingertip to shoulder blade in gauze five centimeters think, but the limb was clearly still attached. This left him free to inquire about the identity and purpose of the person who had pushed him down, not that it took him long to figure out, as she had taken to kissing and wringing his left hand, crying, "You're okay, you're okay."

"Hermione," Ron said quietly, fumbling until he found one of her hands and grasping it.

She stood up and gave him a kiss on the forehead, giving Ron a chance to see the rips in her clothes and the deep scratches beneath them. Her nose looked a little swollen and blood had congealed in her hair around some cut. It almost looked to Ron like she'd refused to be treated in favor of watching him sleep, but Hermione was much too smart for that.

"What time is it?" Ron asked.

Looking a bit surprised, Hermione glanced at her watch then replied, "About two in the morning." She must have noticed Ron trying to do the math in his head, because she added, "June 23. Harry brought you here yesterday morning."

"I've been asleep for an entire day?" Ron said, disbelieving.

"Almost," Hermione sighed.

"You look terrible," Ron pointed out.

"You're in a bit of a state yourself," Hermione quipped tearfully. "You gave us a real scare, there."

Ron made to shrug off the statement, but stopped when he was reminded of just how strange it was to try and move anything related to his right arm.

"What about Harry? Ginny?" Ron asked.

"Ginny's outside with your parents," Hermione replied. "And Harry…"

She gestured to the foot of the bed then helped Ron sit up far enough to see the back of an unkempt head of black hair resting on a pair of crossed arms near his right foot.

"Is he alright?" Ron asked warily.

"As far as they can tell," Hermione said. "He's asleep now. He dragged you to Hogsmeade then Apparated you here. It took a lot out of him."

"I thought Apparating with another person was impossible," Ron said, gingerly sitting up.

"Apparently it's just dangerous," Hermione replied, grabbing a few pillows and arranging them behind him. "No one's figured out how he did it yet."

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"Actually, we were hoping you could tell us that," Hermione said, "seeing as you were there and all."

"I don't think I can help with that," Ron said sadly. "I must have blacked out or something."

"Then you don't remember a thing?" Hermione asked, growing panicked.

"No, why?" Ron asked warily. "It's just the last bit after Harry and I got ambushed that I can't think of. I remember everything else."

"Because they don't know how to fix you," Hermione cried. "Harry said he didn't know what spell Voldemort used, and-"

"I got cursed by You-know-who?" Ron interrupted, impressed.

"Ron, this is serious," Hermione continued, grasping his hand tighter. "None of the Healers have even seen anything like that spell before and they don't know how to undo it."

"But I feel fine," Ron stammered.

"You're not fine, Ron," Hermione replied. "Have you tried moving your right arm?"

"Yeah, I can't, I can't even feel it," Ron shrugged, "but that's temporary, right?" Hermione's face fell. "Isn't it?"

"They don't know," Hermione cried. "That spell messed you up inside. M-magic doesn't work on you."

"What?" Ron breathed.

"They tried to cancel out the spell, it only made it worse," Hermione said. "The Healers tried a few other spells too, none of them helped."

"Give me my wand," Ron said.

"Ron, no," Hermione pleaded. "Until we know what's wrong, you could really hurt yourself."

"Please, I need to know," Ron replied.

"Alright," Hermione conceded, reaching for her pocket, "but do something simple."

"This is yours," Ron said, eying the wand Hermione offered him. "Did something happen to mine?"

"Harry has it," Hermione explained. "I didn't want to wake him."

Ron nodded and gripped Hermione's wand in his left hand. He pointed it at a flower vase near the window and gave it a flick, "Wingardium Levio-ah!"

It felt like he'd been shocked: a surge of energy coursed through his fingers and the wand slipped from his grasp. The vase remained unmoved.

Hermione leaned over to retrieve the fallen wand then sat up, trying and failing to keep her face impassive, but Ron wasn't looking at her anyway.

"Seven years of magical education and now I'm a squib," Ron told the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

"You're not," Hermione replied, taking Ron's hand in her own. "It's the spell, and we'll figure out how to fix it."

"But you said the Healers don't know what it did," Ron said.

"I didn't say they'd fix it, I said we would," Hermione replied.

"If anyone can figure this out, you can," Ron conceded, turning to face her.

"I won't rest until I've solved this."

"I know you won't," Ron said, tucking a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear. "You should get someone to look at that, though."

"I will," Hermione replied, gingerly reaching up to touch the cut along her hair line. "But first I need to tell your parents you're awake. Your Mum only stepped out to get some tea; she'll flay me if I wait much longer."

When Hermione was almost at the door, Ron called her back.

"Does this change anything? I-I mean…because I'd understand if you don't…or…if you want to-"

Ron was abruptly cut off when Hermione lowered her lips on to his. It was several minutes before either of them could speak again.

"This doesn't change a thing," Hermione said, finally backing away.

"Thanks," Ron replied.

She was nearly at the door again when Ron called, "Hermione?"

"Ron, I promise not to go running off with Fred or someone," Hermione sighed.

"Fred?" Ron demanded, forgetting himself. "Wait, that's not what I meant. What about You-know-who?"

"Oh!" Hermione said, brightening up. "Harry won, Voldemort's gone. It's over."

"It's over," Ron breathed, testing the idea.

"We don't have to fight anymore," Hermione continued.

"It's over," Ron repeated.

For a moment, it was all they could do to stare at each other, ecstatic grins creeping over their faces. After years of trials, they had finally won. The world could move on.

"It's over," Hermione agreed, turning back to the door.

"Wait, Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Don't tell them about, you know…" Ron trailed off, gesturing to the vase he'd failed to levitate.

"Of course," Hermione replied, "you can tell them when you're ready."

"And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're alright."

"You too."

Hermione paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked up at Ron. A few seconds and several unspoken words passed between them, then she smiled, nodded, and opened the door to the waiting Weasleys in the hallway.

Mr. Weasley jerked out of his uneasy daze at the sound of the door and looked up at Hermione.

"Is something wrong?" he asked quickly. "Should I get a Healer?"

"No, everything's great," Hermione replied placatingly. "Ron's awake."

Quite forgetting that Ginny was sleeping with her head on his leg, Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, nearly knocking her to the floor. Remembering himself at the last second, he caught his drowsy daughter by the shoulder and gently sat her up. Ginny didn't need to ask why she had been woken up: one look at her father's elated expression told her everything she needed to know. She leapt to her feet, teetered slightly as she sleepily found her balance, and darted through the door to Ron's room, leaving Hermione and Mr. Weasley to wake up the rest of the dozing family.

Just as Hermione was prodding Charlie awake, Mrs. Weasley returned carrying several cups of tea, which she dropped as soon as she surmised what had happened. She bustled into Ron's room without bothering to clean them up.

Mr. Weasley gave Hermione a look and a shrug and raised his wand to clear away the spill, but the sight of his wand reminded Hermione of the secret Ron was trusting her with, and she found herself unable to look at Mr. Weasley and she followed Bill and Fleur into Ron's room instead.

It was completely silent in the room, but not unpleasantly so. Instead, there was a growing energy, as though everyone had realized simultaneously just where they were, that the war was over, and that everyone was alright. Mrs. Weasley had resumed her place next to Harry at Ron's right side and was running her fingers through Ron's hair, apparently trying to reassure herself that he really was there, awake and alive, and Ron was silently pleading with her to stop.

Ginny was doing what Hermione could not: gently jostling Harry awake. He finally straightened up, blinking blearily as he straightened his glasses. Harry's eyes met with Ron's and his face cracked into a wide smile which was soon echoed all over the room. Before long everyone was laughing merrily as though someone had just told some grand joke.

The spell broken, Fred reached forward, patted Ron on the foot, and said, "Welcome back, Ronnikins."

Ron stammered for a moment at being called by that juvenile nickname, and finally said sheepishly, "I didn't really go anywhere."

"You seemed far away to us," Ginny replied.

"Sorry," Ron said, dropping his attention to his left hand.

"Don't," Harry said suddenly. His voice sounded tired and tense.

"What?" Ron asked. Everyone was looking at Harry now.

"Don't be sorry," Harry clarified. "It wasn't your fault. The...um...the spell was meant for me. You saved me, and…well, that's what happened."

It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room as nine people gasped at once at this new bit of information. In the meantime, Harry had returned his attention to his knees.

"I saved you?" Ron breathed.

"You don't remember?" Harry returned, sitting up straighter.

"I remember most of the battle, but none of that," Ron replied, eyes wide. "As far as I remember, we got ambushed in that hallway and I woke up here."

"Oh, Ron," Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"It's alright," Ron maintained. "Maybe that spell did something to my memory and it'll come back when we figure out how to fix it, or maybe I blocked it out, in which case I might not want to remember.

Mrs. Weasley still looked a bit worried about this revelation, but Ron couldn't bring himself to be troubled by it, because he had finally accomplished something that his brothers could not. He had saved Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, and in that one way he was greater than the rest of them. It felt a bit selfish, but Ron couldn't help but marvel in that for a moment.

"We thought you'd need something to do," George said after a moment, "so we brought you some stuff from the shop."

He tossed Ron a bright purple bag. After two years as a keeper, Ron was an excellent catch, even with only one hand, but when he leaned forward to grab the bag his limp and bandaged right arm slipped off the bed and onto his mother's knees. She glanced down at it in surprise, which quickly melted into concern when Ron didn't automatically move his arm. It was a moment before Ron realized why he was suddenly being pulled to the right, and, blushing, he put down George's bag, reached over, grabbed his right forearm in his left hand, and lifted the limb back onto the bed.

"The Healers said your hand was numbed," Mrs. Weasley whispered, "but you can't feel it at all?"

Ron gave a half-hearted shrug and pointedly returned his attention to George's bag. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a deck of exploding snap cards, a few varieties of Skiving Snackboxes ("We thought you'd like something to torment the Healers with," George commented when he saw them. Mrs. Weasley didn't approve), Ron's wizard chess set, and a few of the twins' patented daydream charms.

"Ah," Fred said winningly. "We thought you'd like those best of all, what with all the time you'll have on your…all the time you'll have now. Although with the object of your daydream right here I suppose you won't really need them."

Remarkably, as if on cue, Ron turned an impressive shade of pink and all the color drained from Hermione's face.

"I thought so," Fred said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced between them.

Cottoning on, Mrs. Weasley followed Fred's gaze and gave Ron and Hermione a surprised look. Turning paler still, Hermione scooted her chair a bit further away from Ron's bed.

"The two of you?" Mrs. Weasley gasped.

Knowing they were caught, Ron and Hermione nodded.

"Well, were you planning on telling anyone?" Mrs. Weasley demanded.

She turned sharply to Harry and Ginny, who determinedly looked anywhere but at her, but Mrs. Weasley had been around long enough to know what that meant.

"When were you going to tell me? Arthur, did you-"

Mrs. Weasley cut herself off mid sentence and glanced around the room. Mr. Weasley was nowhere to be found, he had never come in from cleaning up Mrs. Weasley's spilled tea.

"Arthur?"

A moment later, Mr. Weasley poked his head into the room, looking quite troubled.

"What are you still doing out there?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Mr. Weasley hesitated, clearly experimenting with the words he was about to say.

"Percy's out here," Mr. Weasley finally replied. "He'd like to come in."

"Percy?" Mrs. Weasley cried, jumping to her feet.

A lanky shadow crossed the doorway and several expressions darkened, but Mrs. Weasley immediately crossed the room and threw her arms around her wayward son, drawing him into the room. Mr. Weasley followed them inside.

"Percy, you came!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, still not releasing him. "I knew you would. Ron's doing much better. He saved Harry, can you believe that?"

"That's great, Mum," Percy said uncomfortably, patting her back.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley pulled away, holding Percy at arms length and observing him through watery eyes.

"You look so thin, have you been eating well?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Percy replied. "There's something important I have to say."

Every eye in the room swiveled toward him at these words. Percy cleared his throat nervously.

"I owe all of you an apology. You were right all along; I never should have sided with the Ministry. It just made things worse in the end."

"And the beginning, and the middle," Fred stage whispered to George.

Percy cringed and, surprisingly, directed his next statement at Ron.

"I hope you'll forgive me."

Glancing nervously around the room, Ron pushed himself up straighter.

"You're asking for forgiveness now."

"Yes," Percy replied, nodding emphatically. "I've seen I was on the wrong side."

"It's easy to choose sides when the fight's over," Ron said, looking at his family for guidance.

"I wanted to come back before," Percy pleaded, dropping to his knees at Ron's side. "It's just so hard; I didn't know where to start…"

"Fighting a war is hard, watching your friends die is hard, coming back to your family is not, and neither is admitting you're wrong," Ron replied.

"You don't understand," Percy cried. "It is for me, because-"

"Because you value your own ego, your own ambition, more than the truth," Ron spat. "We fought a war, Percy; you sat and watched at pointed fingers at the person next to you whenever someone suggested that something was wrong. You abandoned us when we needed you. You're family, but if you want us to welcome you back then you've still got something left to prove."

"Very well," Percy said stiffly. He stood up, reached under his glasses to wipe his eyes, and left without another word.

Ron released a tense breath and sand back into his pillows, but looked up again when he realized Fred and George were giving his feet high fives. Wordlessly, Ron drew his legs in so he was sitting cross legged. Bill and Charlie both looked undecided, Ginny looked defiant, and Harry and Hermione were diligently keeping their opinions to themselves. That was unfortunate, really. Ron knew they thought this was a purely Weasley issue and that it wasn't their place to interfere, but he would have valued their input, because off to his right his Mum was sobbing into her hands while his Dad rubbed circles on her back. Percy seemed to make a habit of ruining even the happiest occasions and as Ron sank deeper into his pillows he hoped that he hadn't ruined things as well.


	2. In Restless Dreams I walk Alone

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, banjos, ukuleles, and harmonicas are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. I also owe a word of thanks to the Harry Potter Lexicon. I couldn't have written this chapter without it. This chapter title is lifted from the song "The Sound of Silence" by the Simon and Garfunkel.

**Chapter 2: In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone**

Harry couldn't sleep. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, he'd slept for most of the past three days, the price he'd paid for Apparating with Ron, but he suspected that wasn't the reason for his insomnia. It just felt wrong to lie there on a cot in Ron's room in the Burrow with the bright Chudley Canon posters assailing his eyes whenever a firework from a nearby celebration lit up the room and the ghoul clanking away in the attic when Ron was still lying on a bed in Saint Mungo's.

Dully, Harry considered flooing back to Saint Mungo's to sit with Ron. It was only by the narrowest margins that he'd been convinced to leave in the first place. An entire pack of Healers lead by Mrs. Weasley had ordered Harry, Hermione, and Ginny off the premises, but they hadn't agreed until Ron suggested that they go as well. Hermione especially had looked rather offended at that, but she hadn't been able to argue when he said that they couldn't spend all their time in a hospital waiting for him. He'd even gone so far as to add that they'd all spent far too much time there already, which made Harry wonder if he was aware that the only reason the entire Weasley clan had been allowed to stay that first night was because the Healers hadn't thought Ron would live to see the next day. However, now that Ron's survival was all but guaranteed, they'd had to concede his point and abandon their unspoken plan to force the others to allow them to stay. Instead, they promised to return early the next day.

Ron was doing much better. In fact, after a day and a half with no relapses from Voldemort's curse, the Healers had finally restored some of the feeling to Ron's right arm. He'd spent that entire afternoon happily wiggling his tingling fingers. Still, after everything they'd been through together over the past year, searching for Horcruxes and the final battle, leaving Ron now felt a bit like abandonment to Harry and Hermione. Harry especially thought that he ought to be there. After all, that curse had been aimed at him.

Harry supposed that Hermione and Ginny were probably lying awake as well, pondering similar thoughts in the darkness, maybe even discussing them. He considered joining them, but he quickly rejected the idea, he couldn't imagine how his presence could possibly make things better for them. Even Harry didn't like his own company, he wasn't about to subject them to it.

After the year he'd had, Harry couldn't say he handled situations like this best alone, but he just couldn't go downstairs, couldn't face the moment when Hermione and Ginny backed him into a corner and asked about the length of time between when Voldemort cursed Ron and when Harry killed Voldemort.

A wave of guilt washed over Harry and he rolled onto his side, feeling physically sick. The Healers had said that, if Ron had been brought in sooner things would have been better for him. He might have made a full recovery by now, for all Harry knew. If he had made the opposite choice things would have been very different. Ron would be here, they might even be celebrating, drinking butterbeers and telling stories like a group of old war heroes. Now, the war might be over, but they had nothing to celebrate.

Harry closed his eyes and watched as the same ten seconds played in his head: Voldemort walking through a door into a lit room and Harry following. He cringed and bit his lip when he realized that he felt a stab of guilt, but no remorse. He forced his eyes open, tried to think of anything else, but the memory continued to haunt him, over and over, an endless cycle, following Voldemort through door after door.

In his dreams, Harry returned to Hogwarts, but it wasn't Hogwarts as he remembered it, or, rather, how he preferred to remember it. There was no scratching of quills against parchment, no voices of the professors echoing their lectures down the halls, no students complaining about tedious essays as they passed. No cackling poltergeist, no patter of House Elves walking barefoot on the stone floor. No snoring portraits or rustling ghosts. Nothing either living or dead was in the castle except for him and the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing hundreds of times around the castle, crying, screaming, pleading for help. Harry couldn't stand the screaming, so he raced around the castle, slipping on the chalky remains of ruined statues, trying to find the voice so he could give it whatever it needed and make it stop. He ran down one hall and up the next, searched every nook and cranny any map had ever known, but the voice eluded him. The more he had to listen to it, the more he thought he knew the voice, like a friend from long ago and far away, and if he could just get closer he'd be able to find out who it was, but the echoes never stopped. It was driving him mad.

Harry woke up fighting. It wasn't anything he'd meant to do; it was just a reaction, something he'd picked up after nearly a year of living constantly on his guard. Of course, it didn't help that his wand had already been in his hand at the time. Or, more accurately, Ron's wand. Harry hadn't been able to let go of it in three days: his hand was seized up around it. At any rate, he apologized to Ginny just as soon as he could, because Mr. Weasley had needed to come along and sort out the jinxes they'd used on each other first.

For his part, Mr. Weasley seemed rather relieved to find them the way he did: frozen solid and attempting to decide which jinx to try and counter first. Initially, Harry thought he was happy that they hadn't gotten carried away and done serious damage to each other, but it didn't take long to figure out what Mr. Weasley thought Harry and Ginny were up to when they didn't turn up for breakfast.

"What happened?" Mr. Weasley asked when they were half way down the stairs and the now dressed and wide awake Harry had finished apologizing to Ginny for the third time.

"We just kind of…" Ginny trailed off, glancing at Harry.

"…surprised each other," Harry finished for her. "Old habits."

"I suppose no lasting damage was done," Mr. Weasley replied, "but you're not of age yet, Ginny. You shouldn't be doing magic away from school."

Mr. Weasley's voice had taken on a rather weary tone when he said that and Harry couldn't help but wonder how many times they'd had this argument.

"It wasn't her fault," Harry finally cut in as they reached the base of the stairs, "it was an accident, but I attacked her first."

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Since Mrs. Weasley had stayed the night at Saint Mungo's with Ron, Fleur had offered to try her hand at making breakfast. Unfortunately, she didn't quite have a handle on the kitchen and most of the items on the table looked burned, foreign, or both. Fred and George had also offered to help, but, while they were passable chefs, it was difficult to predict what animal someone would turn into after eating their food. Thus, when Harry and Ginny sat down at the table, they followed Hermione's lead and stuck to the toast, which she silently informed them was safe.

A few minutes later, Fred and George finished their cooking and plopped down on either side of Harry.

"So, how's it feel not that you've defeated You-Know-Who," Fred asked happily.

It was one of the few times that Harry had ever been happy that someone asked him a question while he had food in his mouth. Trying to give himself as much time to think as possible, Harry started chewing very slowly and deliberately, but by the time he'd swallowed, taken a sip of pumpkin juice, and cleared his throat he still hadn't thought up a suitable response.

"I don't know, the same I guess."

"Come on, mate, you've got to do better than that," George replied, elbowing Harry gently. "The whole world wants to know, you can't tell them you feel the same."

I was true that Harry didn't feel the same, but it was much easier than trying to describe what was actually going through his mind at the moment. So many times he'd seen Voldemort disappear, broken and defeated, only to watch him come back even more powerful than before. It was almost too good to believe that the cycle had been broken. Overriding any happiness he supposed he should have been feeling was his worry and guilt about Ron, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that the prophecy had finally been fulfilled, and the relief surged up in him like a bubble, and thinking of that he finally found the right words.

"I feel free."

"Much better," Hermione replied.

Breakfast went by easily enough. Even though Fleur continually invited the others to try her dishes and Fred and George assailed Harry with reporter-like questions, nothing remarkable happened until Hermione was standing up to leave and an owl floated in the window, carrying a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Mr. Weasley fished a Knut from his pocket and passed it to Hermione, and she paid the owl then returned to the table with the newspaper. She barely looked at the front page before slamming the paper down on the table and exclaiming, "Listen to this! '_Magical folk around the country rally to support the proposed Harry Potter Day_.'"

"Someone wants to name a day after me?" Harry breathed, leaning over the table so he could read the newspaper upside down. "What for?"

"'What for,' he asks," Fred laughed.

"You did just kill the most powerful dark wizard in history," George added in a teacher-like voice.

"But that doesn't…" Harry stammered.

"Harry, this has been a long time coming," Mr. Weasley said quietly from the head of the table. "There were many who wanted to call November 1st Harry Potter Day after you put a stop to You-know-who as a baby. It never became official because the Ministry couldn't get permission to use your name."

"I'll have to remember to thank the Dursleys if I ever see them again," Harry muttered. "That's one of the few favors they ever did me."

"Well, why shouldn't you have a day," Ginny asked. "You're a hero, and heroes get days named after them."

"Dumbledore doesn't have a day," Harry replied. "I mean, I just did the last little bit and I wouldn't have even got there without…What I'm trying to say is, you were all there too, why don't you get days? Or Professor Lupin? He deserves a day. Professor Snape too, I suppose."

Hermione looked like she was about to continue the argument, but Fred jumped in first with another one.

"Wait, Snape?"

"We were there when Voldemort killed him," Harry explained, glad for the change of subject. "He used his last words to defend the Order."

"And you don't think he was just saying that because You-know-who was about to kill him," George pressed.

"Voldemort said he figured out Snape was betraying him ages ago," Hermione replied, cringing slightly. "He'd been using Snape to feed false information to the Order."

"But what about Dumbledore?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Neither of them said anything about him."

"Well, that's a few mysteries solved, at least," Mr. Weasley said, standing up. "If you've all finished we can get going."

Hermione and Ginny jumped to their feet, but Harry was a bit slower.

"I actually have something I wanted to give to Ron, but I forgot it upstairs," he said slowly.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"His wand," Harry replied, not quite meeting her eye.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. She looked like she had something more to say, but she bit it back.

"You can go on ahead," Harry continued. "I'll catch up."

Hermione and Ginny nodded and turned toward the fireplace and Harry made his way back up the stairs. In truth, Ron's wand was locked in his hand and his own was in his pocket. He felt a bit bad about lying to Hermione, but he honestly wanted to give Ron his wand back and therefore needed to find a place where no one would hear what he was about to do.

When Harry arrived back at Ron's room, he stretched his right arm out to his side and positioned the back of his hand against the corner of the door jam. He then moved his arm to that it was in front of him, and, bracing himself, swung his hand at the solid wood with all of his might. Three tries it took before he finally hit the right spot and his hand jerked open, releasing the wand, which clattered to the floor. Groaning in pain, Harry stooped to retrieve the wand, then stood up and surveyed the damage to his numb hand. A large welt was already rising and three purple marks indicated where his hand had impacted the door jam. As he experimentally wiggled his fingers, Harry wished that he'd gone with his first idea and asked Hermione to try casting Expelliarmus on him. Still, there seemed to be no lasting damage aside from the fact that he'd have to continue to keep his hand in his pocket until the bruises healed, so Harry slid Ron's wand into his pocket alongside his own and headed back down the stairs.

When Harry got back to the fireplace he found Mr. Weasley sitting on the sofa.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Harry said as he approached.

"Actually, I did," Mr. Weasley replied, getting to his feet. "Molly popped by this morning to warn me. It seems that a crowd of people has shown up in the lobby of Saint Mungo's. Aurors tried to disperse them, but most were smart enough to claim that they were suffering from some sort of ailment. One guess who they were hoping to see."

"Right," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What about Hermione and Ginny, though? Anyone who wants to see me will probably bother them too."

"Relax," Mr. Weasley assured him. "I warned them before they left and Bill went with them. They'll be fine. We have to make sure the same is true for you. Neither the disillusionment charm nor your invisibility cloak will be much use in a crowd. Can you Apparate there?"

Harry shrugged, concentrated on a spot on the opposite side of the room, and twisted, but remained exactly where he was.

"'Fraid not," Harry sighed. He hadn't been able to since Apparating with Ron from Hogsmeade to Saint Mungo's

"It'll have to be Floo Powder, then," Mr. Weasley replied. "I'll go first and try to clear a space for you."

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied. "I guess this was bound to happen sooner or later. I couldn't avoid it forever."

"I'm sorry to have to agree with you," Mr. Weasley said, taking a pinch of Floo Powder. However, before throwing it in the fire he paused and turned back to Harry. "I don't think we've thanked you properly yet, for taking care of You-know-who…"

"That was just what happened," Harry stammered. "Kind of dumb luck, really."

"… and for rescuing Ron like you did," Mr. Weasley finished. "It was very selfless of you."

"He's my friend, I couldn't just…" Harry trailed off uncomfortably. "And besides, I owed him one. Still do, really."

"I imagine that if we asked Ron about that he'd say the opposite is true," Mr. Weasley replied, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Molly loves you like one of her own, but she will maintain that being friends with you is a risky business. And I'll admit that she has a point, Ron's been in more tight spots than any of his brothers, even Fred and George."

"We don't go around looking for trouble," Harry said quickly. "It usually comes after us...er…me."

"I know," Mr. Weasley assured him. "And Molly does too; she just needs to be reminded sometimes. I, on the other hand, can't help but notice that no matter how many scrapes you get into, you and your friends always make it back alright."

"That's not true, sir."

"Well, maybe not in perfect health, but they make it back, and I think that has everything to do with you."

"I just do what I can."

"And you can do quite a bit," Mr. Weasley said, beaming. "You returned Cedric Diggory's body to his parents; you tried to rescue Sirius even though you thought You-know-who had him in his clutches."

Harry cringed. "That didn't exactly work out like I meant it to."

"You rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets," Mr. Weasley continued.

"That isn't actually something I meant to do until I was actually doing it," Harry maintained.

"You Apparated with Ron to Saint Mungo's even though no one had ever done that before."

"I told you, I owed him."

"I say that the entire world owes you more than it will ever be able to give back," Mr. Weasley replied. "But I can't help feeling reassured that you think you still owe Ron something, because I know that you'll do anything you can for him."

"That would be true anyway.

"I guess I know that too," Mr. Weasley sighed. "But what I'm trying to say is, don't forget to take care of yourself too."

"Thanks," Harry said uncomfortably. "Er…shouldn't we be going?"

"Right," Mr. Weasley yelped. "I'll be off, then. Give me a few moments then come on through."

Harry nodded and watched Mr. Weasley toss some Floo Powder on the fire, shout "Saint Mungo's!" and disappear. Harry counted to ten, then grabbed a pinch of floo powder and followed.

By now Harry was used to Floo Powder as a mode of transportation, but he'd never quite gotten the hang of the dismount, something he lamented just as soon as he slid gracelessly out of the fireplace and onto the floor of the Saint Mungo's lobby and looked up to find at least a hundred people staring at him. Within seconds, the entire room went silent. Mr. Weasley offered Harry a hand and pulled him to his feet. Harry nervously pawed his bangs over his scar, but it was a lost cause.

Offering up an uncomfortable smile, Harry followed Mr. Weasley as he pushed his way through the mob to the lifts. People crowded around him, shouting for his attention, reaching toward him to shake his hand or touch his robes. Once, Harry felt a sharp tug on the back of his head and turned around to find a young witch making off with a tuft of his hair. Gradually people began shouting questions at him, but even if Harry had felt inclined to answer any of them he wouldn't have been able to, for they all blended together in the din.

Finally, they reached the wall and Mr. Weasley called a lift. While they waited for it to arrive, Harry found his attention drawn to a poster on the wall nearby. It contained two lists headed "Deceased" and "Recovering." As Harry stepped closer to read the names beneath he felt several flashbulbs going off around him and was fairly certain about what picture would be on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning, but at the moment he didn't care, this was the first chance he'd gotten to learn about the casualties of the war.

"Deceased:

You-Know-Who  
Elphias Doge  
Antonin Dolohov  
Marcus Goyle  
Fenrir Greyback  
Hestia Jones  
Bellatrix Lestrange  
Remus Lupin  
Alastor Moody  
Anthony Nott  
Severus Snape

Recovering:

Alecto Carrow  
Amycus Carrow  
Colin Creevey  
Jacob Dawlish  
Filius Flitwick  
Maxwell Jugson  
Rabastan Lestrange  
Rodolphus Lestrange  
Neville Longbottom  
Walden McNair  
Marius Mulciber  
Peter Pettigrew  
Sturgis Podmore  
Augustus Rookwood  
Alexandra Rosemerta  
Cassandra Rosier  
Kingsley Shacklebot  
Septima Vector  
Ronald Weasley"

Harry felt a bite of anger at seeing people like Professor Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody listing alongside the likes of Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. It seemed almost cruel to list Aurors and Death Eaters together in death when each group had dedicated their lives to the eradication of the other. Maybe the Healers who compiled the list hadn't had time to determine sides and maybe now that the war was over it didn't matter anyway, but Harry couldn't help but wonder what Lupin would say about being listed just after Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry was still turning those thoughts over when there was a muffled ding nearby and Mr. Weasley pulled Harry onto the deserted lift then closed the door.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Weasley said as he pushed the button for the Fourth Floor.

"I didn't expect there to be so many," Harry said quietly.

"In the crowd?" Mr. Weasley asked. "I'm afraid there's plenty more where those came from."

"No, on the list," Harry replied. "There must have been thirty people hurt or dead."

"You probably don't want to hear this," Mr. Weasley said, "but we got lucky. It could have been much worse."

"If you say so," Harry sighed.

"That's the way wars work," Mr. Weasley replied. "People die."

"Mad-Eye Moody died," Harry said. "I had no idea."

"He fell defending the Entrance Hall," Mr. Weasley explained. "Bless him; it's probably how he preferred to go. Retirement never sat well with him."

"If you say so," Harry repeated.

"That list is actually incomplete," Mr. Weasley added. "I guess the Healers didn't think to include them, but a few people on both sides have gone missing. No one's been able to find Tonks, for example."

"Tonks is missing?" Harry stammered, as they stepped off the lift and made their way to Ron's room.

"As far as I know she hasn't reported back to the Ministry or the Order yet," Mr. Weasley explained. "But they haven't found her body, and you know how it is with Tonks…"

"They won't find her unless she wants to be found," Harry finished for him. "There was a lot more people involved in that battle than were on that list."

"Those were just the people the Healers have seen for injuries," Mr. Weasley explained. "The Ministry has a more complete tally."

"So the Death Eaters, then, how many were captured?" Harry asked, halting his progress down the hall and turning to face Mr. Weasley.

"Thirty five," Mr. Weasley replied. "That's in addition to the five who died and the ten who are still being treated."

"Fifty," Harry breathed. "But that can't possibly be all of them."

"Relax, Harry, it's not your responsibility," Mr. Weasley said placatingly. "The Aurors are looking for the rest of them and the Order is helping."

"I saw that list," Harry replied. "There's not much of either group left."

"Harry, you won our side its victory," Mr. Weasley said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let us take care of the rest."

Harry glared at him for a moment, then forced himself to back down.

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "Let's go see Ron."

"That took you long enough," Bill said when they stepped into Ron's room. "We thought you might have been carried off by that crowd, we were about to send a rescue party."

"We were just talking," Harry replied. "Did you see that list by the lifts?"

"We did," Bill sighed. "Pity about Lupin."

"Tonks is missing, too," Harry added.

Every face in the room fell, as Ron sat up straighter in bed an asked, "What list?"

He'd been there when Lupin's fate was sealed, but obviously hadn't seen the list, so the rest of them spent the next few minutes reciting the names on it for him.

"I suppose you've realized that wasn't everyone involved in the battle," Mr. Weasley said.

"What about Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked edgily. "Did he escape?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Since he was already a convicted Death Eater and was captured inside of Hogwarts he didn't even stand trial before being thrown back in Azkaban."

"Thanks," Hermione said quietly.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Harry yelped, rummaging through his pocket. "I've been holding on to this for you, Ron." And Harry presented Ron with his wand.

An unreadable look passed between Ron and Hermione, but he accepted the wand happily and placed it on his bedside table.

They spent the morning asking Mr. Weasley all he remembered about the fates of the Aurors, Order members, and Death Eaters who were in the battle. This lasted until Hermione emitted a high pitched squeak from behind the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ she'd brought from the Burrow.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked quickly.

"There's an article about Professor Lupin in here," Hermione explained. "I was just reading it, and-"

"What did they say about him?" Harry muttered darkly, cutting her off.

"They were remarkably civil, actually," Hermione replied, changing tracks. "They painted him as a war hero instead of as a werewolf. In fact, they hardly even mentioned that. The trouble is with his time of death."

"He died, what does the rest matter?" Harry sighed.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but this is important," Hermione said. "What time do you suppose it was when we left him there?"

"I don't know, I was a little too preoccupied to check my watch."

"It can't have been much later than ten at night," Ron replied, shooting Harry a look.

"That's what I thought," Hermione said. "But according to this article, a Healer said that he died around three in the morning."

"What?" Ron demanded, turning to paper toward him and reading the paragraph Hermione indicated.

"But that's just a guess," Harry stammered. "The Healers couldn't have gotten to him for hours after that."

"Healers have pretty accurate ways of telling these things," Ron replied, looking up from the paper. "They wouldn't have been off by five hours."

"Then it's the Prophet making things up again," Harry said desperately.

"It's a direct quote," Hermione replied sadly. "It's possible they misunderstood, but unlikely.

"But he died," Harry pleaded. "Pettigrew knocked him over the banister and we were there and he died."

"There were Death Eaters coming, Harry," Ron reminded him gently. "He wanted us to leave and we wouldn't. Maybe he just pretended to die so we'd go. We didn't exactly wait around to check."

"But that's five hours," Harry cried. "Five hours he was alone and dying and we should have been there for him."

"Stop it Harry!" Hermione shouted, tears running down her face. "He knew what he was doing."

"Besides," Ron pointed out, "we don't know that he was alone."

"Tonks?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Hermione replied. "We'll ask her when we find her.

------------------

They spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon in idle conversation. Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, and the occasional Healer came and went while Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley remained with Ron.

Around mid afternoon they were joined by a kind looking Healer who interrupted a lovely conversation about sugar quills when she bustled to Ron's side, picked up his limp arm, and began moving it in all directions. As they backed away to give the Healer space, Harry and Ginny exchanged confused looks with Ron, while Hermione looked like she had at least a vague notion of what was going on, and Mrs. Weasley just looked worried.

A few minutes later, when the Healer was rotating his wrist, Ron suddenly yelped in pain and tried to squirm away.

"Take it easy, will you?" he exclaimed. "I've got to use that later."

"Exactly," the Healer replied without looking up from Ron's wrist, although she was a bit gentler as she continued her work.

From the way Ron's expression melted from pain and anger into something altogether more desperate, it couldn't have been plainer that he hadn't realized just how injured his arm was until that moment. With a sigh of surrender, he leaned back into his pillows and waited for the Healer to finished, occasionally tensing up when she found a tender position.

Harry, however, found himself unable to watch his friend like this and let himself into the hallway, where he leaned against the wall near Ron's door.

He had a vague idea of going to the washroom to splash some water on his face, then up to the tea room to get some drinks for everyone so it would look like he'd left on legitimate business, but before he got the chance he was accosted by a familiar voice.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Hi Colin," Harry replied, turning to face him.

Colin was walking with Dennis and a gentleman that could only be their father.

"What are you doing here?" Colin asked bluntly.

"Visiting Ron," Harry replied. "What about you? I thought I told you to stay in Hogsmeade during the battle."

"I did," Colin replied indignantly. "But there were the Dementors there. I got a…" he gestured at his temple. "Anyway, the Healers fixed me right up. Lucky you taught us how to cast a Patronus, huh."

"I guess so," Harry replied.

The conversation lapsed into a bit of a silence and Harry happened to glance at Mr. Creevey, though he was a bit too late in realizing what the man's cogs were clicking toward.

"You're Harry Potter!" Mr. Creevey blurted suddenly.

"Yes," Harry said quickly, wondering if misplaced hero worship was a genetic trait.

"It's an honor, sir," Mr. Creevey continued, reaching out to shake Harry's hand enthusiastically. Harry tried not to wince when the strong handshake compressed the bruises left from when he'd hit his hand on the door frame that morning. "Colin's told me so much about you."

"Did he?" Harry asked. After thinking about it for a few moments he decided that he shouldn't be as surprised about that as he felt.

"So, you were the one who took care of…of You-know-who," Mr. Creevey continued, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper when he mentioned Voldemort.

Harry nodded, marveling at how different his encounter was compared with the one he'd had that morning with the mob in the lobby. Maybe it was because Mr. Creevey was a Muggle and wasn't quite aware of just how bad Voldemort really was, but Harry much preferred this simple straightening out of facts to people fawning all over him.

"Harry's the greatest wizard in the world," Dennis piped up, unfortunately managing to finish his statement before Mr. Creevey shushed him.

"It's true," Collin added, as though it was a simple truth that everyone ought to know.

"Quiet, the both of you," Mr. Creevey cried. "Can't you see you're embarrassing him?"

Harry self consciously brought a hand to his cheeks, as though he could feel what color they'd turned, though he was grateful to Mr. Creevey. Usually people didn't cotton on to the fact that the great Harry Potter could ever get embarrassed.

"We should be going then," Mr. Creevey continued. "Their mother will be wanting to see them."

Harry nodded his goodbye and turned away, but a few seconds later he heard Mr. Creevey whisper," Have the pair of you been doing that the entire time you've been at school? Blimey, it's a wonder his head hasn't exploded."

Harry smiled at their antics as he walked away. He didn't have a firm destination in mind, but he didn't want to go back to Ron's room until he was sure that the Healer had left so he wandered around the floor. This had been going on for several minutes by the time someone called, "Harry?"

Harry whirled around and found that he'd just passed an open door, so he backtracked and peeked inside.

"Neville! I didn't know you were here, are you alright?"

"Healers patched me up," Neville said with a shrug. "They said they'll probably let me go later today."

"That's great," Harry replied.

There was a few moments of silence before Neville ventured, "The Healers said you finished off You-know-who."

"I did," Harry replied, studying his hands so he wouldn't have to look Neville in the eye.

"It's good to hear it from you," Neville replied. "I asked a Healer about my parents. He said they're still the same."

"Oh," Harry sighed, wishing he wasn't the one Neville had chosen to talk to about this, but his Gran didn't seem to be around and this had obviously been weighing heavily on Neville's mind.

"Maybe I was stupid to think that when Bellatrix died…" Neville said, his voice shaky.

"Have you seen them?" Harry asked.

"Oh…no," Neville replied, as though the option hadn't occurred to him.

"Do you want to?" Harry offered.

"Well, yes, but I'm supposed to stay here," Neville stuttered.

"You said the Healers were about to let you go," Harry reminded him.

"Alright," Neville replied, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and getting up a bit tenderly, as though his ribs were paining him.

Together, they climbed the stairs to the Janus Thickey long-term ward and stepped inside. Several Healers looked up and gave Neville greetings as he and Harry made their way to the Longbottom's beds. Mr. Longbottom was struggling to assemble a six piece puzzle and Mrs. Longbottom was swaying back and forth while humming a strange, tuneless melody, but they both stopped and looked up at Neville as he approached, but that was the only sign of recognition they gave until Neville had reached the foot of their beds. Mrs. Longbottom reached into her pocket, pulled out a gum wrapper, and held it out for Neville.

Blinking rapidly, Neville took it, but a second later Mrs. Longbottom's entire demeanor changed. She gave out a chocked sort of squeak and leapt unsteadily towards Neville, then began grabbing desperately at his white hospital robes, tears running down her face.

"No, Mum," Neville said, realizing what had upset her. "I'm fine, see? I'm not hurt. Please don't cry."

But Mrs. Longbottom didn't seem to understand him, she just kept hugging him wildly and tugging at his robes as though she were trying to pull them off until two Healers came up and dragged her away. She continued to struggle against them until they forced her to take a potion, then she laid down without argument.

"Perhaps you'd better go," a sage looking Healer said to Neville and Harry. "Try coming back when you have your normal clothes on."

Neville seemed beyond words, so Harry agreed for him then guided him out of the ward.

"I'm sorry," Harry said when they were outside and Neville was leaning heavily against the wall. "I shouldn't have suggested…I should have known better."

"'S not your fault," Neville sniffed, his eyes watery. "I should have guessed that would happen."

"You can't have known," Harry assured him.

"It didn't do anything," Neville sighed. "When I dueled Bellatrix, when she died, it didn't help them."

"It might not have helped your parents," Harry replied, "but it helped someone."

"You sound like you've thought about that a lot," Neville said.

"Killing Voldemort didn't help my parents," Harry said with a shrug. "Come on, let's get you back downstairs before the Healers there start wondering what happened to you."


	3. Permanent Record

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, banjos, ukuleles, and harmonicas are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Kiss Off" by The Violent Femmes.

Author's Note: I edited this chapter because of an excellent point made by princess from harrypotterfanfiction, who reminded me that Ginny calls Voldemort by name at the end of Half-Blood Prince while I had Harry convincing her to say it at the end of this chapter. Oops. Oh well, fixed now.

**Chapter 3: This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record**

Harry had stood outside this door before. He'd been fifteen then, and quite certain that he was about to get expelled from Hogwarts, if not chucked in Azkaban. However, at fifteen he'd also been innocent, guilty only of defending himself. The same could not be said this time.

Slowly, Harry drew his wand from his pocket, knowing that this could be the last time he ever saw it intact. It's once glossy finish had long since dulled and fingerprints covered its entire length. The wood had even chipped in some places, marks of years of hard use and war. If he looked closely enough, he could even see small indentations where his hand had gripped it time after time. Harry's wand was as important to him as any appendage. He couldn't image living without it. Yet, it was with this wand that he'd fought wars, done terrible things, killed Voldemort.

"Mr. Potter?" a wizard a few years older than Harry asked, poking his head through the door and startling Harry out of her reverie. "We're ready for you."

Harry slipped his wand into his pocket, careful to make sure it didn't slip through a hole, and stepped inside. He didn't own a robe that wasn't threadbare and travel worn, and he hadn't exactly gone out of his way that morning to find the most presentable one. This particular robe had hastily repaired rips and holes all over, and the pocket was particularly worn out from all the times he'd drawn his wand, but Harry wasn't particularly interested in making sure he gave the Wizengamot a good first impression.

Unlike his last visit, there was no chair waiting for him, so Harry walked to the middle of the circular floor and looked up at the assembled crowd. He couldn't remember much from just after his disciplinary hearing three years ago except for an immense sense of relief, but he thought Mr. Weasley had asked him if he'd been tried by the entire Wizengamot as about half as many people as Harry was looking at now filed past them. They layout of the room allowed Harry to see each and every face that was staring down at him. Some he recognized, most he didn't. Dully, Harry wondered how many were Aurors and then he had to battle down the urge to laugh when his mind logically leapt to the next question: whether or not he could fight his way past all of them should they convict him.

Still, Harry couldn't help but notice that the mood in the room was markedly different from the last time he'd been there. Then, the Wizengamot had been filled with anger and annoyance. Now, most people were practically beaming at him.

"Mr. Potter," someone growled, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He looked up and saw Minister Scrimgeour standing in the first row of seats, staring down at him. "In recognition of your selfless efforts during the war and defeat of a Dark Wizard, the Wizengamot has decided-"

Decided! Harry thought, heart leaping to his throat. They weren't even going to give him a chance to defend himself?

"Do you accept?" Scrimgeour's voice broke through Harry's thoughts.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. To his knowledge they didn't usually ask criminals if they want to get thrown in Azkaban.

"Do you accept the Order of Merlin, First Class?" Scrimgeour clarified, looking annoyed that Harry hadn't been listening the first time.

"Oh," Harry stammered, caught off guard. That couldn't be right. He'd used an unforgivable curse; they should be locking him in Azkaban, not thanking him. When he'd been asked to appear before the Wizengamot, Harry had never once considered that it might be to receive an award. He had half a mind to refuse, but then another thought occurred to him.

"Released Stan Shunpike yet?" Harry asked, looking Scrimgeour directly in the eye.

Scrimgeour looked momentarily abashed, then admitted. "Yes."

"Then I accept," Harry replied.

A deafening chorus of cheers filled the room as Scrimgeour stepped down from his perch to meet Harry on the floor. He took a large medal from a velvet lined box and placed it around Harry's neck then shook his hand, flashbulbs going off all around them. Harry was just thinking that he probably wouldn't have accepted the Order of Merlin if he'd known that this would happen when the rest of the people in the room descended upon him.

A few minutes later Harry was surprised and disgusted to find himself shaking hands with Dolores Umbridge. He nearly recoiled and his hand must have twitched because a second later Umbridge was running her thumb over the thin raised scar that spelled out "_I must not tell lies"_ on the back of his hand. She glanced down at it and a moment later her confusion melted into recognition. Harry caught her eye and gave her an "I win" look, then forced his hand away from hers.

It was nearly an hour before Harry finally managed to escape the reception. The very first thing he did upon reaching the hallway was rip the medal off of his neck and stuff it deep in his pocket.

---------------

Two people entered the kitchen in the Burrow, stifling their voices and footfalls as soon as they saw him. They bustled about their work, occasionally admonishing each other to "keep quiet," or asking "where's the chocolate?" They obviously thought he was asleep.

A few minutes later there was a pause in the bustle and he distinctly heard one of them whisper, "That poor dear."

That was Mrs. Weasley, Harry was sure of it now that he'd heard her voice distinctly. He could feel her eyes on his back. Her companion was Hermione, Harry could tell by the sound of her footsteps alone.

"He'll be alright," Hermione replied. "Do you have any potatoes?"

If Harry hadn't been feigning sleep he might have stood up and hugged Hermione for drawing Mrs. Weasley's attention away from him, or at least thanked her. She alone out of everyone seemed to still have everything under control.

"Did you check the back of the cupboard?" Mrs. Weasley replied, turning back to the kitchen. "There's usually a few floating around in there. We have to make sure we have all his favorite foods for tonight."

Harry stopped listening in favor of sorting out that last statement. Who would Mrs. Weasley and Hermione cook for, someone whose favorite food was potatoes? It wasn't the sort of thing Harry usually paid attention to, so there really was little chance that he'd actually figure it out, unless… Ron was coming home!

Harry's eyes snapped opened, but his thoughts were immediately dispelled. Blimey, he hadn't even bothered to take off his glasses before he collapsed. He thought he'd already slept off the affects of Apparating with Ron, but apparently not. Pale brown and almost in focus, the ugly pattern on the Weasley's couch filled his entire field of vision. Closing his eyes and settling deeper into the sofa, Harry resumed eavesdropping on Hermione and Mrs. Weasley's conversation. They seemed to be planning a feast, not that Ron deserved anything less after everything he'd done.

Far sooner than Harry had expected, an enticing array of smells began drifting away from the kitchen.

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley continued their hushed conversation as they cooked and Harry would hear snippets of it whenever they forgot to keep their voices low. Several times he wondered if he ought to let them know that he was awake and eavesdropping or get up and leave altogether, but they weren't exactly discussing delicate information and Harry couldn't think of a place he'd like to go or anything he'd like to do instead, so he held his silence.

"Oops! That's quite enough stirring dear," Mrs. Weasley yelped suddenly. Harry heard Hermione jump slightly and step away from whatever mixture she had been managing.

"Let this get much thicker and we'll all be breaking our teeth on it later," Mrs. Weasley continued.

"Sorry," Hermione stammered. "I've never been very good at cooking."

"Not to worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "All you need is a bit of practice."

"Thanks for letting me help," Hermione replied.

"Well, it's nice to have an extra hand around the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Actually, I kind of meant, since I can't be with Ron right now, it helps to be doing something," Hermione stuttered.

There was a long an uncomfortable pause in which Harry started to desperately wish that he'd left while he had the chance.

"You know, if there's anything we can do to help, anything at all, you only have to ask," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.

"I know," Hermione replied. "Thanks."

The pair resumed cooking in silence and Harry hoped that was the end of their conversation, but luck was not with him.

"You, Ron, and Harry all look so thin," Mrs. Weasley said finally. "I've been so worried about you over the past year while you were off researching and finding those horrible Horcruxes, and I know it sounds silly, but I couldn't help wondering if you were eating well enough."

"Honestly, we never starved, but food usually wasn't our first concern," Hermione admitted, obviously trying to break this news gently.

"I understand," Mrs. Weasley said stiffly. "You had other things to worry about."

"We mostly had to stick to things that we could carry and wouldn't spoil, so we had a lot of nuts, dried fruit, granola, that sort of thing. Ron especially didn't like it much, but it was what we had," Hermione explained. "You know we spent some time at Hogwarts, and even while we were traveling we sometimes had time for a decent meal."

"Well, I know Ron can't cook," Mrs. Weasley said, "and no offense dear, but-"

"Harry cooked," Hermione replied quickly. Up until that point Harry had been trying to ignore their conversation, letting it was over him without actually absorbing any of it, but at the sound of his name his mind snapped to attention and began logging every word.

"Harry cooked?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sounding breathless with surprise.

"He surprised us too," Hermione said. "He's actually really good, especially considering that we usually only had a fire and a conjured pot to work with. Apparently he used to have to cook all the time for his Aunt and Uncle."

"I had no idea," Mrs. Weasley breathed.

"Neither did we," Hermione admitted. "The Dursleys aren't something he usually likes to talk about."

"Among other things, I suppose," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Have you heard him mention You-know-who once since the battle?"

"I haven't," Hermione confirmed, "but I expect he's just been worried about Ron. You remember when Sirius died and we all expected him to turn into an emotional wreck, but he used it to fight harder instead."

"Yes, well, this is a bit different, isn't it," Mrs. Weasley maintained.

Harry shuddered in spite of himself.

"He'll talk about it when he wants to," Hermione replied. "We can't force him."

"Well, what about you, then?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "You were in that battle as well."

Hermione didn't respond right away. Harry could almost see her chewing on her lip as she always did while she was thinking very hard.

"I'm just glad it's over," she said finally. "We don't have to fight anymore and the world can get back to the way it's supposed to be."

"Me too," Mrs. Weasley replied.

Either Harry actually drifted off to sleep after that or he got lost in his own thoughts, because the next thing he became aware of was someone gently shaking his shoulder. He jerked awake, rolled over, sat up, straightened out his glasses, and found Ginny smiling down at him.

"Haven't you slept enough?" she asked.

"I thought I had," Harry replied honestly.

"So the Healers made good on their promise to let Ron go today," Ginny said, sitting down next to Harry.

"Is he here?" Harry asked excitedly, sitting up straighter.

"Not yet," Ginny replied, snaking her arm around Harry's pulling him back. "He couldn't take the Floo Network, so Dad had to borrow a Ministry car and drive."

"Magic still does funny things to him?" Harry asked sadly.

"That was some curse," Ginny said, "but it's getting better. They wouldn't have let him go otherwise."

"That's great," Harry breathed, relief sweeping through him.

"Bill popped by and said that Dad and Ron left Saint Mungo's about two hours ago, so they should get here soon," Ginny said. "Mum and Hermione made dinner, and Mum asked if we could set up the tables in the garden."

"Alright," Harry said, standing up and offering a hand to pull Ginny to her feet. He glanced around for the first time as they walked to the back door and noticed that Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were no longer in the kitchen, which he supposed was a good thing because his and Ginny's position a moment before had probably been somewhat incriminating.

Harry and Ginny had almost finished laying out the dishes and silverware when they heard a car roll down the gravel road to the Burrow. They immediately dropped what they were doing and raced around the house to greet Ron and Mr. Weasley. Before long, every inhabitant of the Burrow spilled out to join them.

The black Ministry car pulled to a halt in front of them and Mr. Weasley got out, followed by Ron, who looked like he was trying very hard to make it seem that he didn't have a single idea about why everyone would have assembled outside like this. As one, they all rushed forward to hug Ron, pat his back, kiss his cheeks, and welcome him back home.

While he was surrounded by this bubble of joy and excitement, Harry had revelation he'd been avoiding for the past few days: they had won the war. Voldemort was gone, never to return, and, what's more, they'd miraculously come through it more or less intact and unscathed. It felt as though a burden he hadn't realized he was carrying had been lifted off his shoulders and it was all he could do to avoid whooping and hollering and jumping and crying with joy. However, his excitement seemed infectious and within a few moments everyone was laughing along with him as they made their way into the house.

Everyone took their seats at the table while Harry and Ginny straightened out the remaining place settings and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley set out the food. When everyone was seated, they tucked in with vigor. It was one of the most pleasant meals Harry could remember. Even though he felt a twinge of guilt whenever he caught a glimpse of Ron clumsily eating with his left hand or saw him discretely ask Hermione if she would mind cutting his chicken, and Percy sent the entire table into an awkward silence when he showed up half way through, as a whole it was marked with wide smiles, interesting conversations, witty banter, and good cheer. The whole affair culminated in a spectacular sunset, shortly followed by an impressive display of fireworks that Fred and George confirmed originated with another magical family a few kilometers away and had been occurring every night since Voldemort fell. When it became clear that the show was not going to let up any time soon, the entire party scattered to go and watch.

---------------

"It's good to be back," Ron said as he sank gently onto his bed on the top floor of the Burrow to watch the fireworks. "I guess I didn't really realize how much I missed the place."

"It was strange being here without you," Hermione replied, sitting down next to him.

"It shouldn't have been," Ron said, pulling her closer. "You know you're like family here."

"Whenever I've been here you were too," Hermione explained. "The Burrow was missing something without you."

"Well it's better hanging around here than stuffy old Saint Mungo's," Ron muttered.

"Oh, Ron, I wish I could have been there with you the whole time, but you know how the Healers are," Hermione cried.

"That's not what I meant," Ron clarified. "I'm glad you were here. There wasn't really much to do there."

"I could have kept you company," Hermione replied.

"I had other things to do," Ron said with a lopsided shrug as a particularly spectacular firework caused the entire room to glow a soft yellow. "I can bend my elbow now."

He placed his limp arm on his lap so he could demonstrate. By the time he had finished a few beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead, but he had bent his elbow a few degrees.

"It's not much," Ron said quietly, "but-"

"Ron, that's great!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping to her feet in excitement.

"Thanks," Ron said sheepishly, a firework, accenting the red tint of his cheeks.

"Maybe it will start to get better on its own," Hermione continued. "I mean, that was quite a powerful curse, but Voldemort can't very well go on maintaining it now that he's dead."

They both paused and stared at each other with elated expressions as the enormity of what Hermione said washed over them for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few days.

"Voldemort's gone," Hermione breathed. "He's really gone this time. He won't come back."

"I wasn't sure we'd ever get there," Ron said.

"I almost can't believe it," Hermione agreed.

She gently picked up Ron's bandaged arm and began kissing his knuckles. However, a moment later a white hot pain shot through Ron's arm and he gasped and gripped the edge of the mattress with his other hand.

"Hermione?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking up from his hand. She realized almost immediately that something was wrong and gently placed Ron's hand back on his knee. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. The episode faded quickly, leaving only a stinging memory behind. "Yeah, I'm fine. I don't know what that was."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, returning to her place by his side. "I had no idea that would happen."

"Neither did I," Ron replied, reaching over to brush a bit of hair behind Hermione's ear. "But I don't think it was your fault. I…um…actually still can't really feel that hand, but whatever that was, it seemed like it started from inside."

"I'm still sorry," Hermione sighed. "Listen, whether this curse is wearing off by itself or not, I'm still going to try and figure out how to lift it faster, alright?"

"Thanks," Ron agreed.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, just watching the fireworks before Ron spoke up again.

"You're great, Hermione."

"Well, thanks," Hermione stammered, not expecting such a compliment. "Did I do anything to deserve that?"

"You're great all around," Ron replied, "but especially about this." He gestured to his bandaged arm. "I can't do magic, I can't write, I can barely bend my elbow, but it doesn't seem to matter to you."

"It doesn't," Hermione confirmed. "You're still you."

"I wish my family could see it that way," Ron muttered. "They barely even look at me anymore."

"They just need to get used to this," Hermione replied. "And I think you're exaggerating a bit."

"What about at dinner?" Ron asked desperately. "I spilled soup all over myself and I know Fred and George saw it. Usually they'd take the mickey out of me for something like that, but they didn't even mention it."

"Would you rather they teased you?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Well, no," Ron admitted. "But they're acting like I could fall apart at any second."

"You did give us all a nasty scare," Hermione reminded him.

"But I'm getting better now," Ron replied. "It's like they think I'm on my deathbed. And what happened to Harry? I thought he out of everyone…"

"He feels guilty," Hermione intuited. "That curse was meant for him."

"I know," Ron said.

"Anyway, they'll come around," Hermione continued. "I hate to say it, but it certainly didn't help when Percy came along."

"He does have a way of making everyone uncomfortable," Ron confirmed.

"It's like you said before in Saint Mungo's," Hermione replied. "We've all shown that we're willing to stand up and fight for each other, but he's still got something left to prove."

Ron stood up suddenly and began pacing in front of the window, his face getting painted many colors by the fireworks as he attempted to organize his thoughts.

"Why did he ask me?" he asked finally.

"Percy?" Hermione replied.

"Of everyone who was there at Saint Mungo's why did he turn to me and ask for forgiveness?" Ron said. "Why not Mum or Dad or anyone else?"

"I suppose you'd have to ask him to be sure," Hermione replied, "but you did just save Harry, that might be the most important thing anyone in your family has ever done."

"That shouldn't have been the reason," Ron said, growing a crimson that had nothing to do with the fireworks.

"Then maybe he thought you were the one who was most likely to forgive him," Hermione added.

"Should I have?" Ron asked, turning to face Hermione.

"I'm not sure I would have," she replied.

---------------

Harry was sitting cross legged on the ground against a tree at the edge of the Weasley's paddock. Ginny was just in front of him with her knees pulled into her chest, leaning slightly on Harry's shins. They hadn't spoken much since leaving the dinner table to admire the fireworks, or, in Harry's case, the way Ginny's hair sparked in the light. Mostly, they just sat enjoying each other's company.

"You nearly jinxed me again when I woke you up to help set the table this afternoon, didn't you," Ginny said finally.

"Sorry," Harry sighed, "but you shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"When you were…out there, you, Ron, and Hermione can't have attacked each other whenever someone got woken up," Ginny pointed out.

"We had a system," Harry laughed. "We'd tickle each other's feet."

"You what?"

"It got to a point where it was either that or wake each other up with a full body bind," Harry explained. "We figured it was unlikely for Death Eaters to come along and tickle our feet, so that's what we did."

"That's the strangest thing I've ever heard," Ginny giggled.

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "But it worked."

Their moment of happy silence was broken by an especially bright firework and Ginny said, "I wonder what the Muggles think they're celebrating."

"Dunno," Harry admitted. "Probably think someone's a little overenthusiastic about the solstice or something."

"They never really manage to see what's right in front of them," Ginny agreed. "It's too bad we can't tell them about the war, though. They deserve to know what almost happened."

"I've already got more fame than I can stomach, thanks," Harry replied, reaching forward to tickle Ginny's back.

"It's good to have Ron home again," Ginny continued, squirming under Harry's touch. "He seems a lot happier now that he's back."

"I imagine almost anywhere would be a welcome break after spending five days cooped up in Saint Mungo's," Harry replied quietly.

"You make it sound like he's still on his deathbed," Ginny said. "He's getting better. He's going to be alright."

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "It's just, a lot of stuff happened."

"Do you want to-"

"No!" Harry exclaimed a bit too forcefully. He saw Ginny tense up by the light of the fireworks and immediately regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I shouldn't have."

"No, it's alright, it's my fault for-"

"Nothing here is your fault."

"I shouldn't have-"

"Come here."

Surprised, Ginny turned back to look at Harry as he uncrossed his legs. She scooted toward him until she was sitting with her back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Do you ever get the feeling that we were part of something important?" Ginny asked after a moment's silence. "Something that people will still talk about long after we're gone?"

"I…um…" Harry stumbled as he considered his answer. "I feel like I've spent half my life wishing people would forget about me and I wouldn't be famous anymore. From the looks of things I'll spend the rest of my life wishing the same thing."

"You stopped a war," Ginny said.

"Sometimes it hits me that it's finally over," Harry added. "And I just can't believe it. And sometimes I really can't believe it, because this has been going on for so long and we've thought he was gone before. I guess I started thinking that I'd be fighting Voldemort for the rest of my life, however long it lasted. I'm not sure what to do now."

"When you think the world's going to end you don't really go around making plans for afterwards," Ginny agreed.

"Out of everyone who's ever lived, why did it have to be me? Why us?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Hermione would say that questions like that are flawed because they assume the presence of some grand unifying force in the universe that balances out right and wrong," Ginny sighed.

"And what do you say?" Harry asked.

"Fate's a bitch," Ginny replied, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

"Fate," Harry laughed. "Dumbledore always said that it's our choices that make us who we are. I can't help thinking, I didn't choose this, but I did. I could have stepped back and let Voldemort take over the entire world, but I couldn't have."

"That's because you're you," Ginny said. "You don't ever just let things happen. Maybe you stopped You-Know-Who because you were the only one who could."

"Just like the prophecy said," Harry muttered.

"Prophecy?" Ginny asked, half-turning to face him.

Harry cringed, only then remembering that he had never told Ginny about the prophecy and took a few moments to explain it to her.

"Do you ever think about it? The battle, I mean," Ginny asked when he was finished. She felt tense in his arms.

"I try not to," Harry said slowly. "But that doesn't mean I don't. It was only a few days ago, so I guess I think about it all the time, really."

"I don't remember some of my first year at Hogwarts," Ginny began and Harry pulled his arms tighter around her. "There are these weird bits that are all jumbled and confused. What I remember most was everyone being completely afraid of the Heir of Slytherin. I didn't know what to think when I realized it was me, still don't, really. I almost killed all those people. I mean, if Hermione hadn't caught on to what was happening and used that mirror…"

"Shh," Harry said softly. "It's alright, that wasn't you, no one died, and it was a long time ago."

"I know," Ginny replied shakily. "I just forget sometimes, when I think about what could have happened.

"I was scared," Harry sighed.

"You? Scared?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Terrified, actually," Harry confirmed. "For the entire battle."

"You always seemed like the one person who's never afraid of anything," Ginny replied.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry muttered.

"I should have known better anyway," Ginny sighed.

"I really was scared," Harry continued, "because that time I knew it was for real. I'd destroyed all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, so he could finally die, but he was out for my blood as well. I knew if I messed up even a little bit that it would be the end of me, the end of everything if the prophecy was to be believed."

"One day it will be along time ago for you too," Ginny said.

"I guess it will," Harry replied.

"But you finished him," Ginny breathed. "You finally killed Voldemort."

They settled into a comfortable silence, simply watching the fireworks, until something rose into the air from some distance to the east of the rest of the fireworks and exploded with a flash of light and a crack unlike any that had yet heard.

"I've never seen a firework like that before," Ginny said, gazing up at its fiery remnants.

An ominous feeling setting deep in his stomach, Harry gently pushed Ginny to her feet and stood up beside her.

"I don't think that was a firework."


	4. Revolution Never Comes With a Warning

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, drum kits, fireworks, and blow horns are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Yell Fire" by Michael Franti and Spearhead.

**Chapter 4: Revolution Never Comes With a Warning**

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fleur, and Mrs. Weasley spent a tense night in the living room, sometimes nodding off on each other's shoulders and sometimes sitting up and watching the fire and doors with rapt attention. Bill and Charlie had wandered off into the night to search for the source of the stray explosive while Mr. Weasley and Percy had gone to seek information from the Ministry and Fred and George left to speak with people in the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, leaving the rest of them feeling quite cut off from the world, alone, and useless. Indeed, it seemed that there only meter by which they could judge the situation was Mrs. Weasley's charmed clock, which reported that all of the Weasleys were either at home, at work, or traveling, and no one was in mortal peril, but they still didn't feel very reassured.

They couldn't count the number of times they'd been in this position in recent times: waiting for someone to come along and tell them that a fight was coming, or that it was all just a harmless prank, or any information at all.

They settled back into their old roles with an eerie ease, talking and pacing and arguing and assuring like the war still wasn't over, for maybe it wasn't, maybe they had been foolish to think that the war would end with Voldemort. Harry found his thoughts drifting perpetually to that list in Saint Mungo's and wondering how many Death Eaters remained unaccounted for and sometimes, horribly, to the Horcruxes to wonder if they had somehow gotten one wrong.

Bill and Charlie returned barely an hour after leaving with very little to report. They'd found the site where the explosive was launched from without much trouble, but there was no one around to question. The only thing that ensured they weren't in the wrong place was a strange wire stand, which, by their description, Hermione said resembled a device Muggles use to launch model rockets. They all heaved a sigh of relief at this revelation, for Death Eaters were very unlikely to use Muggle inspired technology, but it was far from enough to put them at ease.

Fred and George returned when the time was inching toward two in the morning. Apparently, what they'd seen from the Burrow was only one of at least ten displays that all occurred within an hour of each other around all of England, and, while none of it had caused any damage, every instance was located near a large magical celebration. It didn't take long to deduce that an organized group was behind this, and that they were looking for attention.

The sun had already crept over the horizon and Mrs. Weasley was dutifully preparing breakfast by the time Mr. Weasley and Percy returned. Mr. Weasley sank immediately into the nearest chair, looking annoyed and exhausted. It seemed as though Percy supposed he ought to be feeling the same way, but couldn't bring himself to look it.

"Let me guess," Ron muttered. "They didn't even realize anything was wrong until you two showed up."

"Got it in one," Mr. Weasley sighed, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from his wife. "Then straight after that they tried to say it was nothing to worry about, just a stray firework. Of course, that only lasted until Gilbert Wimple came along and said he'd seen the same thing in Kent."

"And that convinced them?" Hermione pressed.

"It helped," Mr. Weasley replied. "We spent the rest of the night trying to gather as much information as we could, but I think we've hit a dead end. Unless someone steps forward and takes responsibility we won't know who did this or why. At any rate we only came back to tell you what we know, we can't stay for long."

"Oh, well, at least have some breakfast," Mrs. Weasley said, piling two plates high with toast, eggs, and bacon and sliding them in front of Mr. Weasley and Percy.

Everyone else joined them at the table and they ate in a stony silence that was only broken by the clank of forks on plates and the rustle at the window of a barn owl carrying the _Daily Prophet_. Fred stood up to retrieve the paper and pay the owl, and then threw the paper down on the table. The usual edition was complete with a rushed extra page about the explosions, which Hermione picked up and read aloud. It artfully suggested that the explosions were a usual part of the post war celebrations. Scrimgeour was even quoted as saying, "While we don't yet know the origin of these extra fireworks, the public can rest assured that there is no danger." Hermione was positively fuming when she reached the end of the article.

"I expect the Minister was just trying to make sure there wasn't a…panic," Percy offered, trailing off when he noticed the glares of his family.

A rather stilted and nervous debate followed, but it soon eased into a more comfortable conversation. As convinced as they were that these explosions were only a precursor to something much bigger, the threat of it felt much diminished in the bright morning light. When Mr. Weasley and Percy decided that they couldn't put off returning to the Ministry any longer, their farewells were almost jovial, and when Hermione announced her intention to spend the day in Diagon Alley, no one could concoct a convincing argument for her to stay. No one, that is, except Harry, who caught up with her on the stairs.

"You're going to go research what happened to Ron?" he asked carefully.

"I promised I would," Hermione replied stiffly, pulling open the door to Ginny's room.

"Can't it wait a few days?" Harry pressed. "Just until we're sure of what those explosions were all about?"

"Do you really want Ron to sit around with an arm he can't use just because we're too afraid to go outside?" Hermione demanded.

"Of course not," Harry stammered. Hermione's question had struck a rather painful nerve. "But if those explosions were really about something serious…"

"They might not be," Hermione snapped. "Don't you understand? Ron needs a cure, he can't do magic.

"He what?" Harry breathed, scarcely daring to believe what he'd just heard.

"We noticed a little after he woke up in Saint Mungo's," Hermione explained. "And he asked me not to tell anyone, so you have to keep this a secret."

"Alright," Harry replied, his hands shaking so viciously that he had to stuff them in his pockets to avoid notice. "Just hold on for a minute." And with that he raced off up the stairs.

When Harry got back, Hermione had just finished stuffing parchment, quills, and ink in her book bag. He tossed his invisibility cloak on top.

"What would I need that for?" Hermione asked, gazing up at him.

"Because that spell Voldemort did on Ron was the most powerful bit of dark magic I've ever seen," Harry replied. "And it's not going to take you long to decide that you won't find what you're looking for in Diagon Alley."

"That doesn't mean I'll need an invisibility cloak," Hermione retorted.

"They're not going to take kindly to you in Knockturn Alley," Harry explained.

"Because I'm Muggle-born?" Hermione spat.

"Maybe," Harry replied. "Maybe because everyone knows you're my friend. Maybe because you're just too good for anyone to mistake you for a dark witch. War or peace, day or night, Knockturn Alley draws the wrong sort of crowd."

"I can handle myself," Hermione said.

"I know, but just in case," Harry replied.

"Oh, alright," Hermione sighed, stuffing the cloak in to her book bag.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Harry said. "I could help you research."

"Harry, you are easily the most recognizable wizard in all of England," Hermione laughed. "If I take you along I'll never get anything done."

"Alright," Harry sighed, giving her arm a squeeze. "I hope you find it."

Hermione nodded and left.

-------------

Harry spent a surprisingly carefree day with half an ear trained on the wizarding wireless and the rest of his attention on the chess board, where he was soundly beaten several times by both Ron and Ginny. However, no matter how much he was enjoying himself he couldn't shake the niggling feeling of guilt and astonishment whenever he looked at Ron. He seemed so like himself. Aside from the white bandages on his right hand that extended under his sleeve to his shoulder and the way his numb arm was draped not quite naturally over his knee, he seemed so normal. Harry could scarcely believe that he'd been hiding his inability to do magic all this time. Harry had spent nearly half his life defining himself by his magic, and for Ron it had been even longer. He couldn't imagine what it was like to lose something so fundamental.

Hermione returned in the late afternoon, looking a bit cross eyed and very much empty handed. She gave Harry and Ron a reassuring look as she settled down on the couch next to Ron and began looking over her notes.

Ron gave her a few minutes before growing impatient and demanding, "Did you find anything?"

"I have a few ideas," Hermione replied. "I found a few curses that match some of your symptoms, but nothing that covers all of them."

She shot a meaningful look at Ron then glanced to Harry and Ginny. Noticing this, Ginny cast a confused look at Harry and he tried to look like he didn't know what Ron and Hermione had just communicated.

When Harry belatedly realized that Ginny would have him checkmated in five moves, Ron decreed that they should all play some Exploding Snap. It was a rather more exciting game than usual because, out of fairness to Ron, they all agreed to play with their right arms behind their backs and therefore were much clumsier than usual. Cards quiet often went flying out of their circle, occasionally propelled by their own explosions.

Mid way through their fifth round, Mr. Weasley came in through the back door and sank wearily into a nearby chair.

"Catch anyone yet, Dad?" Ron asked off handedly as Ginny jerked her hand out to claim the deck only to pull it away again when it burst into flames.

"I was just speaking with Ted Tonks," Mr. Weasley sighed. "Nymphadora's father."

All four of them looked up from their game.

"How is he?" Hermione asked sadly.

"We actually didn't talk about Nymphadora very much," Mr. Weasley said slowly, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "He turned himself in to the Ministry."

"For what?" Ginny asked, eyes narrowing.

"For being part of the group that caused the explosions last night," Mr. Weasley sighed. Harry noticed that he kept on glancing edgily at Hermione.

"Well, that's good, right?" Ron asked warily. "That he turned himself in?"

"He said turning himself in was part of the plan all along," Mr. Weasley replied. "It's their way of making sure we know what they want."

"But he can't be a Death Eater," Hermione sputtered. "Because he's a…"

"He's Muggle-born," Mr. Weasley confirmed.

They all paused for a moment while the magnitude of that statement sunk in.

"Mr. Weasley," Harry said carefully, "what do they want?"

"Equal rights," Mr. Weasley sighed, "for all Muggle-borns."

"I don't understand," Ron blurted, "they've already got it, why would they-"

"And Malfoy always called me 'Mudblood' because it's a term of affection, did he?" Hermione spat. "This is great! Someone's actually campaigning for Muggle-born rights. Maybe the Goblins will get inspired and start demanding their own rights, maybe even the House Elves…"

She trailed off when she noticed that no one else was sharing her enthusiasm.

"Don't you see?" Hermione demanded. "After this purebloods like the Malfoys won't be able to hold anything over us."

"This isn't as good as you think, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said slowly.

"You don't know what it's like to be called a Mudblood," Hermione yelled. "What it's like to be looked down on just because of your parents."

"I seem to remember a song that said, 'The Weasleys were born in a bin,'" Ron said softly.

This seemed to calm Hermione down a bit and Harry jumped in.

"We're not saying that they're not asking for the right kind of change, but think about it. That wasn't a friendly demonstration last night. They're going about this all wrong. I think that Mr. Weasley was about to tell us that this isn't a campaign, it's a crusade."

"He's right," Mr. Weasley confirmed. "Several families of known Death Eaters have already received threats. The trouble is, muggle-borns make up a significant part of the population. Not all of them can be involved in this and we don't know who specifically these threats are coming from."

"What can we do about it, then?" Ron asked.

"That's the question," Mr. Weasley admitted.


	5. Down Below the Truth is Lying

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, clarinets, trombones, and euphoniums are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Burden in My Hand" by Soundgarden.

**Chapter 5: Down Below the Truth is Lying**

It felt strange to be carrying on like normal when a new conflict was gathering just over the horizon, but as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys tended to remind each other at least three times a day, there was really nothing anyone could do at the moment, short of gathering up all the Muggle-borns in England and questioning them. That was why Harry found himself sitting next to Ron, Hermione, and Neville in the Hogwarts Great Hall five days later, listening to Headmistress McGonagall rattle off an over prepared speech about how they and the rest of the seventh years had proven themselves during their stay at Hogwarts and were now ready to take on the world.

As much as Harry wanted the leaving ceremony to feel every bit as important as it was supposed to, he couldn't help but think that it all seemed like a cheap sham. He, Ron, and Hermione had hardly attended their seventh year, and nearly a third of their class had chosen not to attend the leaving ceremony. While the Great Hall looked every bit as majestic as ever, Harry knew that just through the wide oak doors behind them, the Entrance Hall stood in shambles, just like the rest of Hogwarts. It should have been Dumbledore standing in front of them, a twinkle in his eyes as he told them they could change the world. Harry knew that leaving Hogwarts was supposed to change his life, but the real event that had changed everything had happened a week before, far below in a nameless dungeon that he probably couldn't have found again if he tried.

Three rows in front of them, Parvati and Lavender were sobbing dramatically into each other's shoulders. For their part, in general the Ravenclaws were looking wistful, the Hufflepuffs were sitting as close together as they could justify, and even a few Slytherins were looking a bit dewy, but as much as Harry knew he was going to miss Hogwarts, he couldn't bring himself to get emotional about it, and one glance at Ron and Hermione told him that they were feeling about the same. It felt almost surreal, to sit there on the site of the greatest battle in recent wizarding history and do something as normal as graduate from school. Harry wondered what he'd say if someone came up and asked them if they'd gotten their own places to live yet.

Harry looked up sharply when McGonagall said his name, but ducked almost immediately when every head in the hall swiveled to face him, like he was some sort of strange magnet for eyeballs. He tried not to blush while McGonagall said some nonsense about how he embodies the best qualities of Gryffindor House and Hogwarts as a whole, and that that the world owes its freedom to him. A moment later, someone stood and up and started clapping. Harry really wished they hadn't, because soon afterward everyone else, including Ron and Hermione joined in. Caught off guard, Harry looked up at the beaming faces around him and tried to look gratified, but he really wished he'd brought his invisibility cloak. Far later than Harry would have preferred, the applause faded away and everyone returned to their seats.

McGonagall finished her speech with a flourish and declared them graduated. As one, the former students pulled out their wands and sent a spray of multi colored sparks into the air, but even as Harry added his red and gold sparks to those already into the air he couldn't help but note sadly that however excited Ron looked, his wand remained resolutely in his pocket. Trying to mask his sympathy, which he knew that Ron would reject even if he knew that Harry was aware of his problems performing magic, Harry clamped his hand down on Ron's good shoulder. Ron smiled and followed suit, then pulled him into a lopsided hug, which Hermione soon joined, closely followed by Neville. Before long, the entire hall erupted into similar displays as people hugged, cried, and danced under the falling sparks.

Their old Professors lined up in the Entrance Hall to shake the students' hands and congratulate them as they filed out one last time, then they reached the steps leading outside and the seventh years dispersed, calling farewells and promises to keep in touch. A few started wandering around what was left of the grounds, probably waiting on the series of portkeys that had been set up while still more boarded the not so horseless carriages for Hogsmeade so they could Apparate or ride the Hogwarts Express once more for old time's sake. Harry, Ron, and Hermione's route was altogether different. Whether through the Healers' work, Hermione's machinations, Ron's determination, the curse wearing off on its own, or some combination of those, a few careful tests had revealed that limited magic could now be used on Ron without hurting him, allowing him to travel by Floo Powder. They had to wait for Professor McGonagall to escort them up to her office, so they chose to loiter around the steps to the Entrance Hall.

They didn't speak much except to say goodbye to the occasional classmate, until a squeaky voice said, "You fought him, Harry Potter, sir."

As one, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around to find Dobby beaming up at them. His attire remained as eclectic as ever, though he had finally acquired a jacket.

"I did," Harry replied.

"We fought them too," Dobby said, seeming to expand with pride, "in the Come and Go room."

"The Room of Requirement?" Harry asked, confused. "What happened there?"

"The bad wizards asked the room to show the wards on Hogwarts," Dobby explained. "It did. They were going to dismantle the wards and replace them. We stopped them."

"You and the other House Elves?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded. "And then we helped the students escape."

"You did?" Harry replied. "I had no idea."

"We found them floo powder and secret passageways," Dobby said. "The good wizards tried to help, but they were so busy fighting the bad wizards that only a few could help the students."

"No one ever told me about that," Harry replied. "Thank you, Dobby."

Then Harry dropped to his knees in front of the elf. Dobby looked momentarily surprised and confused and made to kneel as well, but Harry stopped him with a look.

"You're a hero, Dobby," Harry said as Ron and Hermione kneeled as well. "It's time someone treated you like it."

Tears of pride filled Dobby's eyes and he seemed beyond words until he finally took a deep a breath said, "Dobby should be getting back to work. Much of Hogwarts still needs fixing."

And he disappeared without giving them a chance to reply.

"I've been trying to tell him the same thing since the battle," McGonagall said warmly as Harry, Ron, and Hermione got to their feet. "He never seems to believe me. Are you ready to go then?"

They nodded and followed her.

"It's a terrible thing to see you go," McGonagall said as she carefully wound her way through the Entrance Hall and up the stairs, which were still missing several large pieces. "I don't think Hogwarts has ever seen any students quite like you three."

"With all the trouble we caused, I imagine it'll be glad to never see the likes of us again," Hermione quipped.

"Well, some of that couldn't be helped," McGonagall admitted. "And the rest I suppose you had your reasons for, juvenile and foolhardy though they may have been."

"Still, I'll bet Fred and George are the only ones who have us beat on number of detentions served," Ron added.

"Yes, well, that might not have been the case if you'd just explained yourselves from time to time," McGonagall sighed, "and thought things through."

They held their silence until they'd reached the gargoyle protecting the Headmistress' office and McGonagall told it the password, "Tennyson."

"I meant those things I said in my speech, Potter," McGonagall said as they stepped onto the moving staircase.

"I…um…thanks?" Harry stammered. He supposed he ought to get used to people expressing their gratitude toward him, but it still made him awfully uncomfortable. After all, he couldn't really honestly say that he'd killed Voldemort for them.

Thankfully, she didn't pursue the subject and turned instead to Hermione to ask where she was going to work. Hermione turned a bit pink and admitted that she didn't know yet. It was astounding, really. Harry knew she'd gotten a rather late start at applying for jobs, what with everything they'd had to worry about at the time, but she still seemed to have managed to send an application to nearly every job she was qualified for, which was nearly every job in England and many throughout Europe. When they reached the Headmistress' office, McGonagall was still offering Hermione career advice.

When McGonagall finished reciting a short list of the merits of magical detective work some five minutes later, she ushered the three of them over to the fireplace, offered them a jar of floo powder, wished Ron a speedy recovery, the three of them the best of luck, and gave all of them a standing invitation to return whenever they desired. A few seconds later, Harry was deposited gracelessly on the rug in front of the fireplace in the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from her knitting at the disturbance and smiled when she saw Harry.

"Back already, are you? How was the ceremony?"

"It was…well…" Harry stammered, picking himself up just in time to avoid Ron's foot as he stumbled out of the fireplace. Ron scowled at the thing as though it had purposefully tripped him up, but Harry couldn't suppress a jolt of admiration: on his worst day Ron could still use Floo Powder with much more grace than Harry.

"Trip go alright, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing at Ron with some concern.

"Yes, Mum," Ron returned dully, turning to pull Hermione to her feet, for she'd just slid out of the fireplace and on to the rug behind him.

"I can't believe we'll never be going back there," Hermione sighed wistfully as she pulled out her wand to remove the soot from her and (more discretely) Ron's robes.

"Never is an awfully long time," Mrs. Weasley replied. "I daresay you'll find one reason or another to go back there eventually."

"I hope so," Hermione said.

"So, the ceremony," Mrs. Weasley pressed. "How was it?"

"It was…"

"…nice…"

"…strange…"

They grinned at each other. Apparently Ron and Hermione were unable to articulate a better response than Harry's original attempt, but between the three of them he thought they'd summed it up quite nicely.

"I'll ask you again when you've had time to think about it," Mrs. Weasley said kindly.

Ron and Hermione nodded gratefully and made for the stairs and Harry followed, a vague notion of finding Ginny forming in his head until Mrs. Weasley called him back.

"Is there any new information about the revolting Muggle-borns?" Harry asked hopefully, turning back to her.

"No, I'm afraid not," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Nothing for sure, anyway. Arthur and Percy have been at the Ministry all day, but no one's been able to find much of anything."

"Alright," Harry sighed. He hadn't really expected much. As far as he knew, the last time they'd learned anything new about the situation was when Ted Tonks turned himself in to the Ministry the day after the explosions.

"There's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about," Mrs. Weasley began, but Harry became distracted after that because Ron and Hermione appeared at the foot of the stairs wearing Muggle clothes. They waved a tentative goodbye and stepped out the back door. After two days of watching Hermione disappear off to Diagon Alley to do research, Ron had started complaining about being able to help find his own cure. Knowing that he was expressing his frustration at his inability to travel rather than any real desire to spend part of his day in a library or bookstore, Hermione had suggested that they go for a walk. They'd been taking long walks around Ottery St. Catchpole every day since then, but Harry had, perhaps a bit foolishly, thought that they'd stop when they found that Ron could use Floo Powder again, not that he begrudged them their walks at all.

A bit belatedly, Harry realized that Mrs. Weasley was still speaking to him, saying something about how "everyone had a talk this morning," "we really can't put it off much longer," "you really are the best person for it," and "sorry if it makes you uncomfortable." He dimly noted that she looked a bit uncomfortable herself, then his brain finally caught up just in time to hear her conclude, "…say a few words at Remus' funeral tomorrow."

Harry blinked, realized his mouth had dropped open, closed it, cleared his throat, and opened it again, this time with a word in mind.

"You want me to speak at Professor Lupin's funeral," he said, hoping he'd heard wrong.

"Only if you're willing, dear," Mrs. Weasley assured him.

Harry wasn't feeling very assured at all.

"Wouldn't it be better if someone else did it?" he stammered, going tongue tied at the thought alone. "Tonks or someone?"

"Well, we did want to wait for Tonks at first," Mrs. Weasley admitted. "But it's been almost two weeks now and we think that if she was going to announce herself she would have done it by now. Aside from her, you are the closest thing Remus had. I don't know if he ever told you this, but he thought of you as a nephew."

"I thought of him as an uncle," Harry said quietly.

"Will you do it, then?" Mrs. Weasley pressed.

"I guess," Harry sighed. "I mean, yeah, I'll do it."

"Great," Mrs. Weasley replied, beaming. "I'm sure you'll be wonderful."

--------------

"Are you coming?" Ron asked when he realized that Hermione had fallen behind.

"Well, yes," Hermione said slowly, in a tone that suggested she was teetering on the edge of a revelation. "I've just had another thought."

"Let's have it then," Ron offered, returning to her side. A moment after that he realized that they were standing in front of the Weasley's broom shed and Hermione was looking at it like she'd just had an epiphany. "You want to go flying?"

"I don't know about me," Hermione admitted. "But do you want to?"

"I…yeah!" Ron exclaimed, pulling open the door to the broom shed and pulling out his Cleansweep. "I hadn't even thought of that."

"Don't ever starting thinking in terms of what you can't do," Hermione admonished him as they made their way to the paddock, "or else you'll give up before you even try."

"Thanks," Ron said.

"I learned that from Ginny," Hermione said.

"I've got to start paying more attention to her," Ron replied.

"That you do," Hermione laughed.

They reached the edge of the paddock a few steps later and Ron was about to jump on his broom when he noticed a potential problem. For all the progress he'd made at getting the strength and feeling to return to his arm, it was still more numb than not and would only hinder him in the air.

"What about…um…" he trailed off, looking at Hermione and lifting his right arm up with his left then letting it drop to clarify his point.

Hermione looked momentarily abashed, but she brightened up a moment later. There was no mistaking that she'd come up with the solution.

"What if we use a charm to stick it to your shirt?" Hermione suggested.

"Alright," Ron shrugged, "but nothing permanent."

Ron grabbed his limp arm and held it up across his chest while Hermione performed the spell. When Ron let go of his arm it flopped forward like a dead thing, but his shirt clung doggedly on, preventing it from moving more than a few centimeters.

"Will that work?" Hermione asked apprehensively. "I could anchor it to your chest, but that sounds a bit extreme."

"It's great," Ron replied with a grin, picking up his broom again.

"Nothing too fancy, please," Hermione said patronizingly. "I don't much want to try catching you."

Ron gave her a lighthearted scowl and took to the air.

He hadn't realized just how much he missed flying until he was soaring from one end of the paddock to the other and back, feeling the wind ruffle his hair and lift his spirits. He might not be as talented as Harry, in fact, with only his left arm to control his broom, his flying probably looked downright shoddy, but that didn't keep him from enjoying every second of it. Nothing could take this away from him, not even You-know-who and his curses. Up here no one pitied him for his deadened arm or called him a hero for saving Harry, although he didn't actually mind that last bit very much. Up here it was just him and his Cleansweep, and as much air and speed as he could get.

--------------

Harry spent most of the day in a state of mild panic and extreme frustration. He couldn't say he enjoyed the thought of speaking in front of dozens of people, but running the DA had taught him not to be afraid of it. The real problem was that he had no idea what to say. He'd sat in Ron's room until he had the favorite moves of all the players on the Chudley Canon posters memorized, the front yard until the chickens decided they couldn't abide his presence any longer, and the garden until he started to consider asking the gnomes for advice, and all he had to show for it was a roll and a half of parchment covered in scratched out lines. No matter how long he racked his brains, nothing he came up with seemed to do Professor Lupin any justice at all. Many times he found himself wondering if he could just go back to Mrs. Weasley and ask her to find someone else to speak at Lupin's funeral.

At first, Harry tried to remember everything he could about the former Professor: when they first met on the train, every lesson he'd taught, all Harry had learned about his parents, the battle that brought his downfall, and their last conversation before his death, but before Harry realized what was happening he'd become trapped in those memories. Around and around they spun, snippets of conversations, greetings, farewells, details he couldn't tell were real or imagined. Harry was just beginning to wonder if writing this eulogy would drive him mad when something touched his knee and he looked up to find Hermione sitting opposite him in the wand-lit attic.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked carefully.

"I was just…um…trying to," Harry trailed off, gesturing weakly at his piece of parchment. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for you," Hermione replied. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Is it about Ron?" Harry asked tensely.

"No," Hermione assured him

"There's something I wanted to ask you too," Harry blurted, the day's frustration finally getting the best of him. "Did you know Professor Lupin was going to die?"

"What?" Hermione stammered. "How could I have?"

"I don't mean when he died, I mean how he died," Harry replied. "You must have realized that Pettigrew's silver hand would be dangerous to him."

"I guess I suspected," Hermione admitted. "But there was no reason to-"

"There was every reason to tell us!" Harry exclaimed. "Information like that is important. We can't just _bumble_ along and hope we end up on top."

"It's over now, what does it matter anymore?" Hermione pleaded.

"I could have helped him in that fight with Pettigrew and Greyback!" Harry yelled, jumping to his feet.

"You could have died!" Hermione replied, getting to her feet as well. "What good would that have done?"

"That fight didn't have to work out like it did," Harry hissed.

"Your responsibility was to finish Voldemort," Hermione said.

"So you decided that I didn't need to know anything else?" Harry demanded. "Voldemort wasn't the only person we met in that battle."

"That's not why I didn't tell you."

"Although I suppose we do well enough even if we don't have enough information," Harry continued. "We seem to have a knack for _weaseling_ our way out of things."

"Harry, I didn't mean to…"

"I guess we just have to _potter_ along."

"That's not fair," Hermione said desperately, obviously catching on to what he was doing, but Harry didn't care.

"Maybe I am a bit _moody_," Harry said, volume increasing with every syllable.

"Would it really have made it better to know that Lupin might die?"

"It would have helped to _riddle_ out some of these things before hand," Harry added menacingly.

"He didn't die because of Pettigrew's hand; he died because he wanted to make sure you could get to Voldemort!" Hermione shouted.

"Oh, yes, there's the _crux_ of it!" Harry yelled.

"Stop it! Don't joke about that!" Hermione cried, sinking back to the floor.

Harry paced back and forth across the attic, ducking hanging beams as he passed them and feeling his anger ebb away. Finally feeling a bit calmer, he turned back to Hermione and said, "He was my last link back to my parents. If I'd known he was going to die I would have asked him more about them. Now I'll never know."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione sobbed, tears coursing down her cheeks. "I should have told you."

"Yeah, you should have," Harry sighed. "I'll see you around.

And with that, he slipped out of the attic through the trap door.

When she was sure that Harry was gone, Hermione stood up and began retracing Harry's route back and forth through the attic, twisting her wand in her hands. She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she came up here. Harry had his own demons to deal with, he didn't need hers. But she couldn't go on the way she had been, trying to avoid parts of her memories for Ron's sake, not now that she had to for Harry as well. Dealing with the memories of that battle, the death, the fear, and the knowledge of what happened and almost happened in that little room when there was no magic to protect her, not even floor beneath her feet for reassurance; it wasn't something she knew how to do. This wasn't something Hermione wanted, but she could see no other option.

Steeling herself up, Hermione pointed her want at her temple and ran through those terrible memories one last time. Then, she took a deep breath and whispered, "Obliviate!"


	6. It Can't Go On Like This

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, curtains, plastic bags, and power strips are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "I Need Some Sleep" by The Eels.

**Chapter 6: It Can't Go On Like This**

"To those who'd heard of him, Remus Lupin was a werewolf, a monster, something to fear and despise," Harry began and Hermione winced in her place in the front row of seats in the graveyard. Harry seemed to falter momentarily when he noticed that he hadn't chosen the best way to start a eulogy, but he pulled himself back together and continued. "Erm…To his students, Professor Lupin was a brilliant and kind man with a special talent for giving people exactly the sort of help and advice that they needed. To his friends, he was a loyal, caring, and intelligent prankster. To those who fought along side him, he was a great man, powerful, daring, and selfless to the end. His life was cursed almost from the start: people feared what the moon turned him into and he could never find a job. He lived in a world that was dead set against him, but he…he did alright for himself. He might have had more to complain about than anyone I've ever met, but I never once heard him lament his life. Instead, he proved himself over and over again to those who would listen, and even more to those who wouldn't, trying to make them see that he wasn't a monster, and neither were his fellow werewolves. He was brave, brave in a way that sometimes gets forgotten, because he had to fight every day for the acceptance that should have been his by right. Remus Lupin was a great man, willing to accept his lot in life without surrendering to it. He was wise and true, a great ally and a better friend, my last link to my parents, and the best surrogate uncle I could ever hope for. I can only hope that, wherever he is now, he found the peace that was denied to him in life. He will be missed."

Complete silence swept over the graveyard as Lupin's coffin was lowered into the ground, then, one by one, people got to their feet. As Hermione stood with Ron's arm around her and hers around him, she couldn't help but look around at those assembled. There must have been at least fifty people there, venturing up to he edge of Lupin's grave, chatting quietly, or leaving to get on with their day, all students, professors, Order members. Hagrid was standing a few rows back and gave her a wink when she caught his eye, and Hermione thought she recognized the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic, and, a bit removed from the rest of the assembly, the werewolf Lupin had met while Mr. Weasley was in Saint Mungo's recovering from his snake bite. Absently, Hermione wondered if Lupin had known how many people he had affected.

Hermione couldn't count the number of funerals they had attended since the final battle, nor how many were left. It was all a bit of a blur that she knew had very little to do with her grief for Professor Lupin because at the beginning of it all was a big gaping whole where the most important night of her life should have been. Try as she might, she couldn't remember a single second of the final battle, which she supposed meant that her idea worked.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she'd stood there last night, staring blankly into space and wondering where she was, how she'd gotten there, and who'd meddled with her mind before she realized that this idea had occurred to her a few days before and she'd been the one doing the meddling. Luckily, she'd concluded that and the fact that the charm had worked as she'd intended, leaving most of her memory intact, before Ginny came along to ask what she was doing in the attic and tell her than dinner was ready. Hermione had been rather subdued during that meal, sifting through her thoughts and memories as she picked through her steak and kidney pie and listened with half an ear to Ron's joyful account of the flying he'd done that afternoon. She'd had to expend a lot of concentration on keeping her face neutral, because, as much as she loved the Weasleys and Harry, she didn't want them asking questions about this, and before long she was feeling sad, angry, and a foreign emotion she soon realized was utter confusion over her missing memories. However, some part deep inside of her that seemed to know what happened during the final battle was relieved that she couldn't remember, and since she knew she was unlikely to ever remember again, it was relief that she chose to hold on to.

Immediately after dinner, Hermione had raced upstairs and dug through her trunk until she found a clipping of newspaper from a few days after the final battle, which detailed everything about the fight that the survivors had been willing to share. She'd read it three times, then once more for good measure before folding it up and sliding it into her pocket, where it now sat, a thin presence against her leg, assuring her that memories or no, she knew enough about the fight to play along in conversation, and that was all she could ask for.

"Hey," Ron said softly, pulling her a bit closer and jostling her out of her thoughts. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, looking up at him. A few tears she hadn't realized were welling up spilled down her cheeks.

"We should go talk to Harry," Ron offered, reaching to wipe the tears off Hermione's face even as his own eyes watered sympathetically.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, and together they walked up to Lupin's grave.

When they got there, Harry was leaning over the grave, letting a clot of dirt sift through his fingers and into the ground. They let him finish in peace and a minute later he came over to join them.

"It was a beautiful eulogy, Harry," Hermione said quietly, eyes welling up again as she noticed his foggy glasses.

"Lupin deserved better than that," Harry sighed. "They should've picked someone else, waited to find Tonks, or somebody. Nothing I could have said would ever do him justice."

"Nothing anyone could have said would do that," Ron replied. "They picked the right person."

"I hope so," Harry said.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked after a moment's consideration.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Help rebuild, I guess."

"I meant about the three of us," Hermione clarified, realizing a bit too late that she really shouldn't have asked. It might have felt like the blank space in her memory occurred only yesterday, but for the rest of them it had been two weeks. No doubt they would have sorted issues like this out. Not for the first time, Hermione wished there had been some way to avoid the blurring of the time since the final battle, but apparently she hadn't wanted to remember her thoughts about the fight any more than she wanted to remember the fight itself. She could only remember critical events from the past week, such as Ron's recovery and the ongoing Muggle-born revolt. Still Hermione pressed on. "How do we just move on from something like this? We've been fighting this was for seven years and now its over."

"I don't know," Harry repeated. "I don't have all the answers. I never did."

Hermione dropped her gaze to the ground. She'd been so sure that if she just asked, Harry would have the solution to the problem that made her wipe her memory, but she supposed that she'd known all along that he wouldn't. As much as people tended to forget it, Harry would be the first to say that he's nothing special; he'd never been imparted with any special wisdom or knowledge. He was just a kid with a prophecy that said only he could defeat the darkest wizard in a century. It hadn't been fair of her to ask.

Just then, Ginny came up and took her place by Harry's side, and together they and the rest of the Weasleys remained while the crowd slowly trickled away. They watched as the gravediggers filled in Lupin's grave and placed fresh grass over it, and they were the first to lay flowers in front of his tombstone.

--------------

The somber group hadn't been at the Burrow for very long when a heavy hand knocked on the front door. A moment later, Harry looked up from his usual spot on the sofa to see Mrs. Weasley invite a stooping Hagrid into the living room. Hagrid's face twitched into a wide smile when he saw Harry, who leapt to his feet and offered Hagrid the sofa and took the chair opposite himself.

"Sorry I didn' ge' a chance ter talk ter yeh at the funeral today," Hagrid began. "Those were some grea' things yeh said abou' Remus."

"Thanks," Harry sighed, not bothering to reattempt the argument he'd had with Ron and Hermione about how someone else should have given the eulogy. Harry was almost certain that he knew what was going to happen next: Hagrid would thank him for his stellar defeat of Voldemort and say that the entire world owes him a debt of gratitude and Harry would have to try not to look uncomfortable while he said you're welcome like he'd already done a millions times before. Therefore, Harry was more than a bit surprised to look up and see Hagrid's face covered in the utmost pride.

"Yeh did good," Hagrid beamed. "In the war an' all."

"Oh…I…um," Harry stumbled, all of his stock answers rendered useless by Hagrid's unexpected statement.

"Tha' was a grea' thing yeh did," Hagrid continued.

Harry didn't know what to say. With all the thanks, gratefulness, and occasional groveling he'd received over the past few weeks, it hadn't occurred to him that all he really wanted was simple assurance that he really had done the right thing. It apparently hadn't occurred to Ron and Hermione or anyone else that Harry might be doubting his actions during the final battle, but there Hagrid was, beaming at him like he'd just won a Quidditch game or been chosen Triwizard Champion.

"Thanks," Harry finally said. "I needed to hear someone say that."

"It's the truth," Hagrid replied earnestly. "Yeh put an end to a war. Ain't nothing better than that."

"You were there too," Harry pointed out. "There must haven been fifty people fighting on our side that night. I shouldn't be the one who gets all the credit."

"But yeh were the one ter finish You-know-who," Hagrid replied.

"I wouldn't have ever gotten there if it weren't for you and everyone else," Harry sighed. "So thanks for being there. You did good too."

Beneath his beard, Hagrid's mouth opened and then closed and Harry noted that his black eyes looked a bit watery.

Hagrid didn't speak for a long moment and Harry was just getting worried that he'd have to think of a way to restart the conversation himself when Hagrid heaved a massive sigh and said, "Tha' means a lo', comin' from you."

"It's the truth," Harry replied, echoing Hagrid's previous words.

"I wan' yeh ter know, if there's anythin' yeh need, all yeh 'ave ter do is ask," Hagrid said suddenly, leaning forward.

"Thanks," Harry said, eyes narrowing at the abrupt change in subject. "But, what-"

"I migh' no' be around as much," Hagrid continued. "Bu' yeh can always coun' on me if yeh need summat."

"Hagrid, are you going somewhere?" Harry asked, cottoning on.

"I guess I didn' say ye', did I," Hagrid sighed.

There was a bit of a clatter at the bottom of the stairs, then Hermione yelped, "Hagrid!"

"'Lo, Hermione," Hagrid replied cheerily as Ron and Hermione joined them.

Fortunately, Hermione's distraction had given Harry just enough time to process Hagrid's statement and he prompted, "You were saying?"

"Olympe asked me ter come an' live with 'er in France."

"France!" Hermione exclaimed, her interruption not nearly so helpful this time.

Hagrid nodded, "An' I though', she 'n' I 'ave been gettin' along pretty well, an' this way she can stay near 'er school. An' Grawp's been doin' much better, bu' the Forbidden Forest really isn' the best place for 'im."

"Oh, well, that's great," Harry replied, trying to sound earnest.

"Yeh don't mind?" Hagrid asked carefully.

"No," Harry assured him. In truth, he had a growing coldness in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the first person he'd ever met in the wizarding world leaving, but he supposed he was also excited for him. "I mean, I'll miss you, but I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Hagrid said. "Well, I should be off, then. Lots ter pack, see."

"Alright," Harry said. He wanted to ask Hagrid to stay longer, but he had said he needed to go and Harry was inclined to trust him not to leave if he didn't have to. Instead, Harry got up and gave Hagrid a hug, which he returned a bit over-enthusiastically. Harry thought he felt several joints bend in ways they weren't meant to, but he didn't really mind. He didn't know when he'd see his old friend again, after all. But, with one final squeeze, Hagrid released Harry, hugged Ron and Hermione farewell, stooped to the door, and left with one parting wink. The room felt unbearably cold and empty without him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in silence for a moment before Hermione turned to Harry and asked, "Would you like to go on a walk with us?"

"Oh!" Harry stammered, surprised. "Um, you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Ron assured him.

"We were actually getting worried that you'd been feeling left out," Hermione continued. "Do you want to come?"

"Yeah," Harry replied happily, tactfully not confirming their suspicions. "Thanks. I'll just go get changed then." He glanced down at the overused black robes he'd been wearing to the funerals to demonstrate his point. "I'll be right back."

However, Harry hadn't even made it to the stairs when Mrs. Weasley leapt out of the kitchen holding three envelopes adorned with Hogwarts crests.

"Just a moment, dears," she said. "These came while we were out this morning. I think they're your N.E.W.T. results."

Hermione very nearly fell over. When she recovered, she rushed forward, took the envelope addressed to her, ripped it open, and read the contents as though they contained the answer to the meaning of life.

Harry and Ron were a bit less excited about seeing their results. Casting dubious looks at each other, they took their envelopes from Mrs. Weasley and, on a silent count of three, they tore inside.

Having two hands at his disposal, Harry reached his parchment first and held it at arm's length as he read, as though he were afraid that the contents might burn his eyes out.

_N.E.W.T. Results for Harry James Potter:  
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O  
Potions: E  
Transfiguration: A  
Charms: A  
Herbology: A_

Harry read it over again to make sure he'd seen it right. He'd been expecting to get T's in most everything.

"I knew I shouldn't have bothered," Ron sighed. He'd finally finished chewing through his envelope and was regarding the parchment in much the same way as Harry.

"How bad can it be?" Harry offered.

"See for yourself," Ron muttered.

They traded parchments and Harry glanced over Ron's results.

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: O  
Potions: A  
Transfiguration: D  
Charms: A  
Herbology: A_

"Could've been worse," Harry pointed out with a shrug. "We didn't exactly go out of our way to study, after all. Or learn the material in the first place, really."

"That's true," Ron admitted, finally cracking a smile. "Still, I suppose that's it for the Auror idea."

"Too bad," Harry sighed.

"Oi, Hermione," Ron exclaimed suddenly. "How'd you do?"

Except for her eyes, it seemed that Hermione hadn't moved at all since first seeing her results. She was also growing paler by the second and Harry started to wonder if she'd forgotten to breathe. She didn't snap out of it until Ron waved his hand between her and the parchment.

"Sorry," Hermione stammered. "It's just-"

"Oh, honestly," Ron sighed, snatching her parchment away. "It's not like you…" Ron trailed off, eyeing her parchment suspiciously.

"I know, it's horrible, isn't it," Hermione cried. Harry looked at her in surprise. She was Hermione; she couldn't have possibly failed anything.

"Hermione," Ron said. "When in Merlin's name did you get a chance to study Ancient Runes?"

"Some of the texts I used to research Horcruxes were written in Ancient Runes," Hermione sighed. "I guess I did alright in that, but-"

"Alright?" Ron demanded," Hermione, you got an O in that." He poked her results under her nose to prove it.

"And have you seen my Arithmancy mark?" Hermione pleaded.

"What's one A?" Ron replied. "I got three of them and a D to boot. Besides, you got an E in everything else. You did great."

"I'll never get a job," Hermione sobbed.

Harry decided to leave them to it and went upstairs to get changed for that walk, whenever they got around to it. However, by the time he got back to the kitchen he saw that all of their fears had been unfounded, for in his absence five owls had arrived bearing job offers. Ironically enough, the two for Harry and Ron were from the Auror office saying that they'd been accepted into Auror training on a probation that would be lifted if they achieved high enough marks during the first few months of their training period.

When he finished reading his letter, Ron looked up and said, "I understand them making an exception for you, but why me?"

"Maybe they knew I wouldn't accept unless I had you there to suffer through training with me," Harry replied, reaching out his left hand to shake Ron's.

"Thanks mate," Ron breathed.

The moment was broken when Hermione let out a high pitched squeal then immediately exclaimed that she'd been offered a position with the Ministry of Magic as a junior goblin liaison.

When the three of them left on their walk they were in very high spirits and spent an enjoyable afternoon talking about their future jobs, nothing, and everything in between.


	7. We All Fall Down

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, thread, yarn, and ribbons are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the rhyme "Ring Around the Rosy".

**Chapter 7: We All Fall Down**

Harry woke up much later than he'd intended the next morning, although once he thought about it he wasn't exactly very surprised. He'd had a horrible nightmare about Lupin's death which woke him up close to midnight and he'd spent the rest of the night trying not to fall back asleep. It must have been about four in the morning when he finally surrendered to his weariness and drifted off.

Supposing that it couldn't have been much later than ten o'clock, Harry got dressed and slipped downstairs. A glance at Mrs. Weasley's clock informed him that none of the Weasleys were at home and Harry hazarded a guess that Hermione had gone with them. His suspicions were confirmed when he found a note next to a warm plate of food in the kitchen. It was fortunate that the note began by saying that everything was alright, because Harry nearly Apparated on the spot when he read that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley had gone to Saint Mungo's. This left Harry feeling a bit confused because it was usually only Mrs. Weasley and Hermione who accompanied Ron to Saint Mungo's, and hurt that they hadn't invited him along. However, by the time he finished reading the note he'd decided that he might as well remain behind: they said they'd only be gone an hour, so they could be back any minute, and he didn't much fancy finding out whether or not there was still a crowd of people camped out in Saint Mungo's lobby waiting for him.

Feeling a bit lonely and out of place, Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, removed the warming charm from the plate of food Mrs. Weasley had left for him, and took both to the table to eat. With nothing else to occupy his attention, he pulled out the day's _Daily Prophet_ toward him and almost choked on the piece of toast he'd been trying to eat when he read the headline: "_Draco Malfoy walks free with 200,000 Galleon fine._"

Harry forced himself to swallow and read on, hoping there was some mistake.

"_In a controversial decision, late last night the Wizengamot ruled that seventeen year old Draco Malfoy has renounced the Death Eaters and is not responsible for any dark activity previous to and including the battle in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on June 21st that culminated in You-Know-Who's defeat at the hands of Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy is the son of the notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, who is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban._

"_Many believe that Draco Malfoy was the student who helped a group of Death Eaters gain entrance to Hogwarts castle in June of 1997 and himself attempted to murder Headmaster Albus Dumbledore on that night, but according to Chief Witch Dolores Umbridge, "No hard evidence has been found linking Mr. Malfoy to either of these events. Furthermore," she added, "Mr. Malfoy pleaded with the Wizengamot to understand that he was forced to join the Death Eaters by his father. I was inclined to believe him."_

"_However, not all of the Wizengamot is so confident in Malfoy's reformation. "He has the Dark Mark," said Griselda Marchbanks, an elder of the Wizengamot. "History has proven that no one can stop being a Death Eater."_

"_Despite these doubts, the Wizengamot voted by a slim majority that Malfoy is guilty of suspicious and dangerous activity but innocent of any dark activity. He was released with a 200,000 Galleon fine, which he paid without complaint._

"_The Wizengamot deliberates today on the case of Peter Pettigrew, who is likely to receive a life sentence in Azkaban for his unregistered animagus abilities alone."_

As soon as he finished reading, Harry threw the newspaper across the table and stood up so forcefully that he that he knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice. Without bothering to clean up the juice or straighten the crumpled newspaper, Harry raced upstairs, supposing that if he was going to start throwing and breaking things then they might as well be his own.

When Harry threw open the door to Ron's room he still felt ready to breathe fire and picked up his pillow and threw it into the far wall. The Quidditch players on the poster there broke formation to avoid it.

"Damn you, Malfoy!" Harry shouted for everyone within fifty kilometers to hear. "Damn you, Umbridge!" he added, throwing his bedding after the pillow. "Damn, damn, you, Voldemort!"

After unleashing a general cry of frustration, Harry tossed himself down on his stripped bed. On the way, his foot collided with his trunk, which obligingly clicked open. Taking that as an invitation, Harry reached into his trunk, rummaged around a bit, and came up with _The Monster Book of Monsters_. A moment later he'd removed the belt that was keeping it shut and was drawing a great deal of satisfaction from ripping apart a book that was trying its level best to bite his fingers off.

Some ten minutes later Harry's rage was finally exhausted and he released what was left of the book, which scuttled off to hide under Ron's bed.

"Why didn't they ask me?" Harry desolately asked no one in particular. "I would have told them I heard Malfoy admit to letting in those Death Eaters sixth year. I would have told them he tried to kill Dumbledore and was the reason why Snape did. He'd never be free now."

However, a moment later Harry realized why the Wizengamot hadn't asked him to testify and he jumped to his feet and started pacing.

"Because no one knew I was there, because I spent the entire time frozen under that stupid cloak!" Harry aimed another kick at his trunk as he said this. "I couldn't save Dumbledore, I couldn't make sure Malfoy rots in Azkaban like he deserves, I…I couldn't save Lupin, I couldn't even save Ron. What am I good for? It's not fair, never was, I suppose. So many things went wrong at once. Damn you, Malfoy. Second chances aren't supposed to work like that."

It sounded like a funny thing to say, so he laughed at it.

"Chances, chances," he babbled, "so many, not enough, and I ignored them all. Too many choices. Great and terrible, terrible and great, doesn't matter, no differences, all the same. Live or die, fight and die, die and fight, no end in sight. Dead, dying, gone away, won't come back, doesn't matter, no difference, all the same."

Harry laughed again, impressed with himself for happening upon such a revelation.

"How long have you been doing this?"

The voice was familiar but Harry didn't bother to place it and continued on as though it were his own.

"Long? Time! Long time! Wise, no wisdom, not in fighting, never in war. No point, no sense, no use, no fun, no end, no stop. Stop? Stop! Stop, stop," he giggled, testing the word. "Should've tried, might've worked, can't have known, didn't have to, not my choice, not my decision, shouldn't have been. Over, over, no more, make it stop, didn't have to, leave me alone!"

"You're not making any sense, Harry."

"Happy, not happy, not supposed to be, not right, can't be happy, not fair. Doesn't mean anything. Two people, two words, one person, no more, not a person. Fix it, have to fix it, make it better, won't work, never does, can't change it, can't be done."

"Harry, you're scaring us."

"Can't help it, always scary. Shouldn't be here…should've left while you had the chance, not fair, no end, won't stop, can't stop, have to, choices, choices! Abilities. Always choices, too many, can't decide, can't think, decided wrong, bad, bad me, not choice, my friend."

Harry stopped abruptly when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, spun him around, and held him there. He blinked three times before realizing that he was looking up at Ron.

"How long were you standing there?" Harry asked, only then realizing how crazy he must have sounded.

"Long enough," Ron replied. "Are you alright?"

From beside Ron, Hermione clicked her tongue at the question, and Harry answered it with a dutiful, "Of course."

"Well you don't look it," Ron pointed out. "And you didn't sound it. Was it your…" Ron lifted a hand to his own forehead.

"No," Harry sighed. "That hasn't been bothering me at all."

"Well, maybe you were thinking out loud," Ron sighed, "but if that's the way your brain works-"

If Ron had intended to continue that sentence he never got the chance, for at that moment Harry realized that Ron had his right hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You arm's fixed?" Harry demanded, seizing Ron's wrist and pulling his hand off his shoulder so he could inspect it. Thin, pale scars crisscrossed Ron's hand, but it was in one piece.

"Oh, yeah," Ron replied with a shrug that was no longer lopsided. He wiggled his fingers to prove it.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Harry exclaimed, pulling Ron into a hug.

"You seemed to have other things on your mind," Ron replied seriously, stepping away.

"Listen, don't worry about that," Harry sighed. "I don't know what it was."

As he was speaking, Harry managed to catch Hermione's attention and flicked his eyes in a way that she correctly interpreted as a request to look at his hand. When she did, Harry mimed the wand movement for Wingardium Leviosa. Her eyes narrowed with a lack of comprehension, then widened when she intuited what he was asking. She looked back up and shook her head sadly. Harry had to stifle a sigh: Ron still couldn't do magic.

In the meanwhile, having caught on to only half of the side conversation, Ron was looking at Harry as thought he had gone crazy all over again. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked skeptically.

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "I just read that article about Malfoy in the _Prophet_ and it got me angry and made me think, and I guess everything just spilled out at once."

"I can tell," Ron replied, surveying the damage to the room.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "I think my _Monster Book of Monsters_ is afraid of me. Last I saw it was hiding under your bed."

"I don't blame it," Ron said, bending down to have a look. "Yep, it's still under there."

He extended a hand to try and coax the book out but pulled it back a split second before a loud snapping sound emanated from under the bed.

"I think it's alright down there for now," Ron said shakily, standing up and dusting off his robes.

"So, about Malfoy," Harry prompted.

"That scumbag," Ron sighed. He continued to interject similar sentiments at strategic intervals throughout Hermione's speech about the wizarding legal system, and by the time she got finished Harry remembered far more of Ron's colorful names for Malfoy than reasons why there wasn't enough evidence to convict him.

"Who made Umbridge Chief Witch?" Harry demanded.

"Scrimgeour appointed her a little after Dumbledore died," Hermione explained.

"And what will it take to fire her?" Harry continued.

"An order from the Minister or a unanimous vote from the rest of the Wizengamot after reviewing a list of her infractions," Hermione replied.

"And how long of a list does it take?" Harry asked.

It was several moments before Hermione realized that he was actually serious in his desire to depose the Chief Witch. When she did, she smiled and said, "I think we'd have enough."

"Excellent," Harry breathed.

They spent a happy hour compiling a rather embellished list of Umbridge's infractions and reminiscing about the rebellion against her until Ginny came along and said that lunch was ready. They came downstairs to a rather larger meal than they'd expected, but a tearful Mrs. Weasley shrugged and said it was in celebration of Ron getting his bandages off and none of them were about to argue with that.

The very first thing Ron did upon sitting down was absently pick up his fork with his left hand, something which Harry, Hermione, and Ginny called him on almost simultaneously. Mrs. Weasley scolded them gently for teasing, but it was obvious that Ron didn't mind, so they continued anyway. The game culminated over the roast turkey, when Ginny matter of factly informed Ron that he was eating backwards again and he wordlessly slipped his fork back into his left hand. It took a minor miracle and several stealthy kicks under the table for them to maintain their composure until Ron realized he was right handed about five minutes later. The resulting hysteria would have resulted in a food fight if Mrs. Weasley hadn't been there to stop it.

They all settled back to their food and Harry picked up his napkin to wipe the tears from his eyes. "That's the one kind of fight I don't mind having," he sighed, then cringed.

Harry had meant for his comment to be a rather underhanded way of letting Ron and Hermione know that he really was alright despite his behavior that morning, but one glance at them informed him that he should've kept quiet. The meal was much more subdued after that, much to Mrs. Weasley's confusion and Ginny's chagrin.

Midway through the pudding, a sharp rap came at the front door. Mrs. Weasley stood up to answer it and the rest of them dropped their forks to eavesdrop. Ginny nearly fell out of her chair trying to get a look at the visitor and when she righted herself she reported that she'd never seen him before, which, along with a foreign voice's muffled question about whether this was the Weasley residence, made it unlikely that he was there on personal business. After that, Hermione cast a clever amplifying charm that allowed them to listen in more easily.

"Can I help you?" Mrs. Weasley asked politely.

"Yes, you can," the man replied. He seemed rather cheered by the fact that he hadn't needed to ask. "I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley replied. She sounded a bit wary, which set Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny on edge as well. It slowly dawned on Harry that, as far as he knew, this man had yet to even say if he was a wizard.

"Would you say that the world will benefit from the defeat of You-know-who?"

"Yes, of course. Harry did a great thing for us, putting a stop to him.

"And do you think that it will also put an end to social strife, between magical folk of different blood statuses, for example."

"I'd say it helped, but I doubt those problems will be solved any time soon. To continue your example, there are some pureblooded Wizards who hold Muggle-borns in very low regard even though they didn't join the Death Eaters."

"My thoughts exactly."

There was a grand pause in which those still at the table exchanged looks of fear and anger.

"Just what are you insinuating, sir," Mrs. Weasley said in a low hiss.

"That you and your family, like so many of your pureblooded relatives, are doing all you can to ensure that Muggle-born witches and wizards remain second-class citizens," the man replied menacingly.

"That's absurd," Mrs. Weasley laughed. "We've been ostracized by the families that consider themselves above Muggle-borns. We're considered blood traitors for supporting the light side in the war against You-know-who."

"And yet, as we speak, your husband is at the Ministry of Magic, trying to put an end to our group, which is fighting for the rights of Muggle-born citizens. He's wrong to try and stop us."

"You seem to think that violence is the only option."

"There are some who would argue that."

"And I'm sure it will be if you listen to them."

"Well, this is a lovely chat we've been having, but I'm sorry to say that if you're not with us you're against us."

Harry and Hermione leapt to their feet and darted to the door, ignoring Ron and Ginny's hisses that it wasn't necessary. By the time they got there, the visitor was staring down Mrs. Weasley's wand, his hand only half way to his pocket. His jaw dropped and he stared openly as soon as he noticed Harry.

"You're…"

"Harry Potter? Yeah," Harry muttered.

"But why-?"

"Am I staying with people who, according to you, must be racist? Because they're not, but they are the closest thing I have to a family."

"Mrs. Weasley already told you that they don't care about blood status and they fought against Voldemort," Hermione chimed in. "What more do you need?"

"I also have a score to settle," the man continued.

"With whom?" Harry growled.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

Aside from remembering Mad-Eye Moody once telling him that Gideon and Fabian Prewett had been killed in the first war against Voldemort, the names didn't mean anything to Harry, but next to him Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth and he thought he heard a stifled yell from Ron or Ginny at the table.

"What quarrel do you have with them?" Mrs. Weasley asked quietly. "My brothers have been dead nearly twenty years."

Harry had to concentrate to keep his jaw from dropping. He'd had no idea that Molly Weasley had once been Molly Prewett.

"You don't remember me, do you," the man said, smirking as though he'd suspected as much.

Mrs. Weasley stared at him for a moment, then, with a sudden jolt of recognition she exclaimed, "Albert Morro!"

He looked quite put out that she'd remembered him.

"Then I suppose you recall what your brothers did to me while we were at Hogwarts," Morro continued, recovering quickly.

"They'd tease you whenever you couldn't get a spell right," Mrs. Weasley replied after a moment of thoughtful introspection. "But they'd do that to everyone, even each other. They said it was their way of encouraging people to try harder, and that was thirty years ago, why is it so important to you now?"

"Because now there are thousands like me who have come to realize that behavior like your brothers' is exactly why we Muggle-borns have never been accepted in your magical society."

"Thousands?" Harry breathed.

"And more every day," Morro replied. "We will not go ignored for long."

"And you intend to make sure of that by threatening purebloods," Hermione said.

"We will do what we must to put an end to this oppression," Morro said.

Hermione crossed her arms. "And you really think-"

She was cut off by a pop when Mr. Weasley appeared in the front yard. He immediately turned around to grab the elbow of a chastised looking Ginny who Apparated a moment later. From the look of it, she'd just Apparated without a license straight into and out of the Ministry of Magic, an impressively bold move.

Mr. Weasley gave Ginny a look that clearly said she'd get a reprieve until this situation was dealt with, but after that she wouldn't soon hear the end of it.

"What is your business here, sir?" Mr. Weasley asked as he approached the door.

"Mr. Weasley, I presume," Morro replied. "Finished plotting ways to end our rebellion for the day, have you?"

"My daughter says you've been threatening my wife and our family," Mr. Weasley spat.

"I don't think I've gotten there yet," Morro said airily. "But when I do I'm certain I will be justified."

"We just fought a war against Death Eaters," Mr. Weasley replied. "We didn't fold to them and we won't fold to you."

"As you wish," Morro sighed, "but, as I was telling your wife, if you're not with us, you're against us, and those who are against us will soon find themselves wishing they'd given up their old ways."

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all decided that they'd had enough simultaneously and Ron came up a moment later to join them as they yelled at Morro.

"You pompous…"

"Didn't the last war prove that there's no such thing as black and white?"

"If you knew anything about war…"

"You could probably get the Weasleys to help you if you didn't go around threatening people."

Morro didn't even bother trying to defend himself under their onslaught; he just smirked like he'd been expecting that sort of reaction and Disapparated.

Ginny took a deep breath and screamed at the place where Morro had been standing while Ron stood there looking livid, Hermione perked up like she'd just thought up another brilliant argument, and Harry punched the nearest wall with all his might.


	8. Fear is Strong

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, museums, theme parks, and teddy bears are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Burden in My Hand," by Soundgarden.

**Chapter 8: Fear is Strong and Love's for Everyone Who Isn't Me**

"I hate this!" Harry yelled, disturbing the thoughtful silence that had settled over the table. Several people nodded their heads in agreement, but no one spoke.

Harry wasn't sure how long it had been since Morro Disapparated, since they'd gathered around the table to stare at each other and think, half an hour maybe, and still no one had come up with a good idea about what to do about the Muggle-born situation.

"What if I join them?" Hermione suggested suddenly. It was obvious that she'd been pondering this possibility for some time.

"That's your decision," Mr. Weasley said sadly. "If you want to join them we won't be the ones to stop you."

But Harry shook his head, knowing that wasn't what she meant.

"No, no!" Hermione yelped a second later when she realized their miscommunication. "I could be a spy and tell you what they're planning, like Professor Snape used to. I might even be able to convince them to consider peaceful alternatives."

It might have been the best option any of them had come up with since the entire Muggle-born rebellion began, but it was far too risky for Hermione. Ron looked positively terrified at the thought and Harry thought he saw him grab Hermione's hand under the table.

"That didn't work out so well for Snape," Harry pointed out carefully.

"These aren't Death Eaters we're dealing with," Hermione replied.

"They acting like them," Harry said.

"I can handle myself!" Hermione yelled.

"Alright!" Mr. Weasley shouted over them. "Thank you, Hermione, for the offer, but it would be very risky for you. I suggest that we hold the idea in reserve until we've run out of other options."

Hermione seemed appeased although perhaps not satisfied with the suggestion and Ron looked about as relieved as Harry felt.

"Right, then," Mr. Weasley sighed. "All we need now are some other options."

They lapsed back into silence for a moment before Ginny said, "Hermione doesn't need to be the one to suggest peaceful alternatives, maybe the Ministry-"

"Sorry dear," Mr. Weasley replied, cutting her off. "But I've already suggested that to the Department of Magical Cooperation. They said that Scrimgeour's policy is not to deal with terrorists."

"Then what about us?" Ginny suggested. "We could-"

"It would look like we were giving in to threats," Mr. Weasley said, all of the fatigue and worry suddenly gone from his voice. One only had to look at him to know that the Weasley clan would not go down that path as long as he was at its head.

"Well there's got to be something we can do," Ginny replied.

"We have to do something," Harry added. "I have to do something, but I can't. It's a war that can't be fought."

"That's not going to stop them from trying," said a foreign voice.

Six heads whipped around to see a deflated looking Percy coming through the back door. He sank gratefully into the nearest chair, looking like he hadn't slept in days.

"Scrimgeour just mobilized the Aurors."

"He did what?" Mr. Weasley demanded, leaping to his feet.

"They've been authorized to subdue and arrest any suspicious Muggle-borns," Percy explained. "I tried to get someone to talk him out of it, but no one would listen."

Everyone fell back into silence as the magnitude of these words hit them. This was it, they were about to begin another war mere weeks after the end of the last one. Never before had Harry felt so defeated.

This time, the silence was infuriating, and, one by one, everyone got to their feet to seek out private corners to think. Harry was about to do the same when Percy called him back.

"I think I have an idea," he said, seeming to battle himself with every word, "but I'd need your help."

Harry was so desperate for a solution that he didn't much care where it came from, so he wordlessly followed Percy upstairs to his room.

Harry had never been in Percy's room before, but he was more surprised by the fact that it had been kept apparently unchanged throughout Percy's defection than by its immaculate organization. Aunt Petunia would have been proud. There didn't seem to be a speck of dust out of place and every award Percy had ever received was on display. However, Percy winced when he saw those and refocused his attention on Harry.

"You're famous, Harry," Percy began.

"I suppose," Harry admitted uncomfortably, wondering where Percy was going with this. "I try not to think about that, really."

"People look to you," Percy continued. "They listen to you. You might have more influence than the Minister himself."

"That's not the sort of think I like to get reminded about," Harry stammered.

"You could put an end to this entire conflict," Percy added, looking like he was trying to get Harry to guess the plan on his own.

"I could?" Harry asked. "Er, I mean, how? I fight things, but we're trying to stop this from turning violent. You're the politician."

Percy broke off eye contact abruptly and started pacing back and forth across his room. It seemed that Harry had forced him to his point sooner than he'd expected and he'd rather lost his nerve.

Finally, Percy stopped pacing and turned to face Harry.

"I have a proposition for you," he began.

Harry had been surprised so many times in recent days that he hadn't thought one more would faze him, but that was before he heard what Percy had to say. At first he'd thought it was the most absurd idea he'd ever heard, but the more he thought about it the better it sounded. Harry felt numb all over and it was taking far too much concentration to climb up the stairs, but eventually he made it up to Ron's room and was relieved to find both Ron and Hermione inside.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked when Harry knocked and entered. "You look like you had a run in with the Whomping Willow."

"I…uh…" Harry stumbled, sinking gracelessly onto his cot. "Percy just made an interesting suggestion…and it makes sense…but I don't know much about this sort of thing…and I wanted to know what you thought."

"Let's hear it then," Hermione offered, her crossed arms confirming Harry's suspicion that knowing the idea came from Percy wouldn't earn it any credibility.

"Right," Harry started. "Well, Percy figures that I've probably got more fame and influence than the Minister, now I've killed Voldemort, and since Scrimgeour's making things worse Percy says I should start spreading around the idea of kicking out Scrimgeour and choosing a new Minister."

There was a long moment in which they all stared at each other uncomprehendingly.

"Depose the Minister of Magic?" Hermione said finally.

Harry nodded.

"Percy suggested that?" Ron asked skeptically.

"It surprised me too," Harry confirmed, "but he's the one who'd know about that sort of thing."

"Depose the Minster of Magic," Hermione breathed.

"Yes, we've established that," Harry replied hotly. "Can we get on to the bit where the two of you tell me whether or not it's a good idea?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I've never read about anything like this happening before."

"Someone write it down," Ron said. "On this day Hermione didn't know something."

"This is serious, Ron," Hermione snapped.

"It does make sense, right?" Harry prodded. "I mean, Scrimgeour was the head of the Auror office and he was chosen Minister because he'd be a good leader during the war."

"He's bound to be a bit more militaristic about things," Hermione agreed.

"So maybe he's not such a good leader during peace," Harry added.

"He's trying to turn this disagreement into a war because that's what he knows how to deal with," Hermione continued.

"So, maybe we need someone in charge who's more willing to negotiate," Harry finished.

"What do you think, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Why don't we just go ask my Dad?" Ron replied.

Harry could have kicked himself and Hermione actually did. It sounded so obvious now that Ron had said it, but after over a year of just the three of them working to find the Horcruxes with almost no outside help, the option hadn't even occurred to them.

Ron shrugged at them and made for the door. Hermione started to follow, but Harry held her back.

"I wanted to apologize," Harry began.

"For what?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing.

"For yelling at you before about Lupin," Harry explained regretfully. "You were right, it wasn't fair of me. You did what you thought you had to."

After a short delay, Hermione's eyes brightened with comprehension and she yelped, "Oh, that. It's alright, just forget about it."

"If you're sure," Harry replied, eyeing her skeptically.

"I am," Hermione confirmed.

"Alright, well, I think when you came up there you had something you wanted to say," Harry offered. "I never let you."

"It isn't important," Hermione assured him. "Let's go see what Mr. Weasley thinks of Percy's plan."

They caught up with Ron at the foot of the stairs and followed his gaze to watch Mr. Weasley give a stern lecture to Ginny about underage magic. Fortunately, it wasn't long before he'd deemed her sufficiently chastised and let her go with a parting thanks for coming to get him when the situation required it. Hoping that the speech hadn't put him in a bad mood, Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached with Percy's plan.

As it transpired, Mr. Weasley didn't know much more about the plan than they did. It took them some time to convince him that it really had been Percy who suggested it, but after that he didn't tell them much that Harry and Hermione hadn't already deduced, although he did add that if things continued the way they were going then this idea could hardly make things much worse, which Harry, Ron, and Hermione hoped meant that he thought they should try it.

Supposing they'd made all the progress they could, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the stairs, but Harry stopped and sat down onto the nearest step half way up the first flight, suddenly feeling quite unequal to the rest of the climb.

"Go ahead," Harry said in reply to Ron and Hermione's curious glances. "I need some time to think."

Harry didn't move as he listened to their footsteps climb the stairs until they blended into the general noise of the Burrow. He didn't actually think about much of anything either, just studied the worn wood between his feet until he recognized Ginny's soft footsteps approaching from behind and stopping a few steps above him.

"Harry?" Ginny asked after a pause.

"Nay," Harry sighed. "I'm actually a clever illusion created by smoke, mirrors, and a smattering of very difficult charms.

"You seem real to me," Ginny replied, sitting down next to him.

"Don't be fooled," Harry said. "The real me died two weeks ago."

"You didn't," Ginny said, straightening up. "Don't joke about that. You just…you need to find something else to live for now Voldemort's gone."

"That may be true," Harry admitted. "When, exactly, did you get to know me so well?"

"There are some who say I spent a few of my formative years stalking you," Ginny said, giggling.

"I don't know if I'd call it stalking," Harry replied, joining in. "Following, maybe."

"It was stalking," Ginny assured him, inspiring another fit of laughter in both of them.

When they recovered, Harry said, "How did things go with your Dad?"

"I've seen worse," Ginny replied, shrugging. "He really only told me off because he had to, since he actually thought it was a good thing someone came and got him. But by the time he got round to talking to me he'd had a chance to think it over, so the first thing he asked was why I'd been the one to go."

Sensing what Ginny was about to babble into, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

"Of course, you and Hermione were by the door and we didn't have time to tell you to get help when things got personal, so it was between Ron and me, and…did you know about Ron?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm not supposed to. He didn't want anyone to find out, but Hermione told me anyway."

"I'd never seen him like that before," Ginny continued. "The look on his face when I told him to Apparate to get Dad and he said he couldn't, that he couldn't do magic at all."

Harry considered several ways to respond to that but they all got caught in his throat until he gave up entirely and said, "You really Apparated right into the Ministry."

"I did," Ginny replied, sounding grateful for the change of subject.

"Without a license," Harry continued, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"Dad was so sure that I'd be carted straight off to Azkaban. Mum's usually the one who does the yelling, but when Dad gets going there's not much that can stop him. I had to wait for him to finish before I could tell him why I'd come. Come to think of it, some of the things he said were kind of funny. I guess he wasn't really thinking about what he was saying. Once he got ahead of himself and said I'd go to Azkaban and get Os on all my N.E.W.T.s."

"Did he," Harry laughed.

"It even made sense at the time," Ginny added. "Now I can't think of how that would possibly work. I don't think the Death Eaters and Dementors would volunteer to quiz me in Transfiguration."

"Well, if all your worst memories are of going to class," Harry offered.

"That's true," Ginny replied. "But even Snape's classes were pleasant compared to-" She cut herself off, smile fading.

"I know," Harry sighed. "And then, just when we thought it was over-"

"But you're going to stop this rebellion too," Ginny interrupted.

"I thought you might have been eavesdropping," Harry teased.

"If you'd told me in the first place then I wouldn't have needed to," Ginny pointed out. "So Percy really suggested that plan?"

"Why is that the only part of this that people get hung up on?" Harry pouted.

"You know Percy," Ginny replied steadfastly. "He was completely devoted to the Ministry. A month ago he would have done his best to throw anyone who tried deposing the Minster in Azkaban. Now he's gone and suggested it himself. Maybe he really has changed."

"I guess I hadn't really thought of it like that," Harry admitted. "There's this other bit that has me worried, see."

"You've spent most of your life trying to avoid your fame," Ginny intuited.

"And now I'm going to use it to depose the Minister," Harry sighed. "Yeah, that's the part. That and I could get sent to Azkaban for trying."

"Not you," Ginny sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.

"They should have chucked me in there a long time ago," Harry sighed. "If I were anyone else they probably would have. Did you know I used the killing curse on Voldemort?"

"I suspected," Ginny replied, shuddering.

"I didn't even know I could, but then I did," Harry said. "That makes me the only person who's ever survived it, and probably the only person who's been thanked for using it."

"You sound like you want to get sent to Azkaban," Ginny said, sitting up.

"I've messed up and people have gotten hurt or killed because of it," Harry pointed out, "but I still get painted as a hero. I don't deserve it."

"Would you rather people remember you as the kid who lost Gryffindor a hundred and fifty points for helping Hagrid in his first year or the person who put a stop to Voldemort?" Ginny insisted.

Harry shook his head.

"What are you planning to do? Sulk and second guess every decision you've ever made?"

"I stopped making plans a long time ago," Harry sighed.

"So you're going to live out the rest of your life going from moment to moment?" Ginny demanded.

"I don't know," Harry insisted. "Ask Ron and Hermione if you don't believe me. When you know the rest of your life may not last much longer you don't do much planning for it."

"I know, alright!" Ginny exclaimed. "I lived through the war too. When you, Ron, and Hermione were who-knows-where and I was up to my elbows in pointless essays, the one thing that kept me going was the fact that you were out there somewhere, trying to put an end to all of it, because as long as you were out there it couldn't go on forever."

"Sure," Harry muttered. "Everyone thought that."

"Not because you were the Chosen One," Ginny explained. "Because you are you and prophecy or not you would do everything you could to put a stop to Voldemort."

"When I was out there," Harry said quietly, "and things were darkest, I always had Ron and Hermione, but they also had each other, and as happy as I was that you were safe at Hogwarts, there were times I wished I had you."

"At Dumbledore's funeral, you said that there were things you had to do alone," Ginny said slowly. "You were afraid Voldemort might use me against you. Well, there's no Voldemort anymore, and you don't have to be alone anymore."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair finally realizing that Ginny had been guiding the conversation in this direction all along and wishing he'd noticed sooner.

"There are still things I need to do," Harry replied after a moment. "Look at this Muggle-born rebellion. It might not be violent yet, but it could be soon, and things like that won't stop happening. Think of what it would do to me if something happened to you. Or what it would do to you if it happened to me. It can't let you live like that."

"You think I'm not already?" Ginny demanded. "And I think you are too. If you keep thinking like that then nothing will ever happen, no plans, no future, no…no nothing."

"I miss you," Harry admitted, "but I have to take care of this first, and maybe, hopefully, it will be the last thing, for awhile at least."

"No!" Ginny exploded. "I'm not going to sit back and accept that this time."

"Please, Ginny," Harry begged, "just until we're sure it's safe."

"The war's over, or haven't you noticed," Ginny spat. "I know things won't go back to the way they were before, and maybe things are more dangerous now, but I'm willing to risk it. Are you really going to give this up without a fight? That doesn't sound like you."

"I've had enough of fighting," Harry sighed.

"Alright," Ginny replied, getting to her feet.

A minute later Harry heard her door close with a bit more force than was truly necessary and buried his head in his hands.


	9. Raise What's Left of the Flag for Me

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, alligators, zebras, and bunny rabbits are not mine. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "What's Left of the Flag," by Flogging Molly.

Author's Note: This is it, the final chapter, so I'd like to give a very big thanks to everyone who's been reading. You guys make my day.

Also, it might seem like I'm trying to make a political statement in this chapter. That's neither the point nor the intention, it was more how everything worked out, so if you disagree with something that is said in this chapter I won't hold it against you, and I'd take it as a kindness if you don't hold it against me.

**Chapter 9: Raise What's Left of the Flag for Me**

Harry and Ron took their time getting up the next morning. It wasn't something they'd intended to do, but it hadn't helped when the very first thing Harry heard after waking up was a drowsy sounding Ron asking Harry what he thought the Cannons' chances were.

Apparently, Ron had had a dream in which the Cannons' won the World Cup. Harry didn't think it was especially strange to dream about the Chudley Cannons while sleeping in Ron's room since nearly every surface was covered in something relating to the team, but they spent the next several minutes discussing Quidditch anyway.

Ron had even gotten out his copy of _Unfogging the Future_ and was perusing the chapter on dreams with a hopeful expression when Hermione burst in without even bothering to knock.

"There's going to be a riot!" she exclaimed without preamble.

"Um," Harry stammered, caught off guard.

"Good morning?" Ron offered.

"There's no time for that," Hermione replied, walking over and gustily pulling off their covers, leaving Harry and Ron quite relieved that they were wearing pajamas. "This is exactly what we've been hoping wouldn't happen. The Muggle-borns are going to riot, then the Aurors will try and stop them, and the next thing we know its open war."

It seemed like Hermione had several waking hours on them, but Harry and Ron were catching up quickly in alertness.

"You read that in the newspaper?" Ron asked doubtfully.

"No," Hermione admitted.

"Hermione, you agreed not to," Harry groaned.

"I didn't," Hermione spat. "You lot told me not to, but if I hadn't gone and spied on the Muggle-borns we wouldn't even know that this riot was going to happen, much less when and where."

"But it was still a risky thing to do," Harry maintained.

"They welcomed me," Hermione hissed. "They thanked me for offering to help and said it meant a lot that a friend of yours supports their cause. They're not Death Eaters, and…" she seemed to be losing steam, "…and now I'm betraying their trust."

"You're doing this for them as much as anyone," Ron said, sitting up and pulling her down on his bed next to him.

"They don't know about the Aurors, do they?" Harry asked.

"They know the Aurors are likely to try and stop them eventually, but they don't know they've already been authorized to arrest suspicious Muggle-borns," Hermione sighed.

Harry and Ron looked at each other with identical horrified expressions as they realized something that seemed to have slipped by Hermione.

"Aren't you a suspicious Muggle-born now too?" Ron asked slowly.

Hermione faltered for a moment, then pressed cavalierly onward, "I imagine I always was. This is worth it."

"This is worth going to Azkaban?' Ron asked, eying her.

"I won't let it happen," Harry replied. "They will let you off with full apology if I have anything to say about it. Of course, I won't have much to say if I've already been chucked in Azkaban for trying to depose the Minister."

"Bloody useless," Ron muttered darkly, tossing _Unfogging the Future_ to the ground in front of him and grabbing his wand off his desk. There was a soft pouf and the book disintegrated into a pile of small pieces of paper.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "You just shredded a book!"

"It was divination," Ron replied. "I should have done that years ago."

"But still, y-"

All three of them paused and looked up at each other when they realized that something unexpected had just happened.

"Which one of you did that?" Ron asked quietly, placing his wand back on his desk with a shaking hand and a defeated expression.

"It wasn't me," Harry replied. Hermione merely shook her head, looking quite offended that he'd even suggest she was the one who harmed a book.

"But if you didn't," Ron said, suddenly sounding out of breath. "I mean, Fred and George aren't outside, are they?"

Harry suspected that they weren't, but he checked outside the door and the window anyway, feeling lighter every second. He caught Ron's questioning look and shook his head.

"I couldn't have done it," Ron maintained. "I'm a squib now."

"It was a spell that did that to you," Hermione replied, reaching over to retrieve is wand. "Maybe it finally wore off."

A determined look creeping across his face, Ron took his wand from Hermione and pointed it at the pile of confetti. A second later _Unfogging the Future_ was whole. A second after that it had been shredded once again. Ron grinned. It seemed to grow wider and wider until the entire room was smiling with him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione started laughing next, suddenly unable to contain the cheery feeling that swept over them. Then Ron pulled Hermione into a kiss.

Harry's grin faltered as he looked away. Usually they were very careful not to behave like this in front of him, and, while he didn't especially mind the exception, he was feeling a bit left out. Still, they deserved this after everything.

Harry couldn't remember exactly when he'd decided not to tell Ron that he'd made a decision to leave his cursed best friend behind in favor of facing Voldemort and wondered if he ever did. He hadn't wanted to at first, worried that Ron might not be able to forgive him, but after awhile he'd realized that Ron deserved to know, no matter what it did to their friendship. However, it seemed that the time since the final battle had been filled with 'not yets,' moments too happy to besmear with such revelations or too terrible to add to, until the time for telling Ron had all but passed and Harry had grown rather used to the idea of keeping the information to himself.

Harry chanced another glance at Ron and Hermione, who were still happily snogging. Growing uncomfortable, Harry wondered if he ought to leave, but then his eyes fell on the remains of _Unfogging the Future_. Suspecting that Ron and Hermione wouldn't mind, Harry picked up a massive handful of the confetti and threw it over them. They broke apart, looking surprised at first, but then they saw Harry, armed with another handful, and they understood. Before long, Harry and Ron had started throwing fistfuls of confetti at each other an even Hermione joined in, despite her disapproval of ruined books. Within moments, every surface in Ron's room was covered in the bits of paper and more of it was stuck to their clothes and hair. As he watched Ron try and brush the confetti from Hermione's ample hair, Harry privately wondered if she'd ever be able to remove it all. He took off his glasses and watched as several blurry pieces of confetti that had been caught on them fluttered to the ground. When Harry put his glasses back on, he found Ron looking at him as though he'd just realized something.

"Did you know I couldn't do magic?" Ron asked in reply to Harry's questioning look.

"Oh…er…yes," Harry stuttered. He'd been so happy for Ron that he'd forgotten he wasn't supposed to know that his friend hadn't been able to do magic.

"I suppose you guessed," Ron sighed, looking downcast. "It must have been obvious. I'm surprised none of my family figured it out for themselves."

"Actually," Harry said, grateful to see Hermione nod subtly. "Hermione told me." Ron looked somewhat scandalized, so Harry hurried on with his explanation before he could get angry. "It was the morning after that night with the fireworks. She told me to convince me that she had to go to Diagon Alley and try to find a cure for you. Maybe I should have said something to you then, but you didn't seem to want anyone to know."

"Oh," Ron said slowly. "I probably should have just told you from the beginning anyway."

"It's alright," Harry replied. "And it doesn't matter now anyway."

"But still," Ron began.

"It's alright," Harry repeated firmly, feeling guiltier about withholding his own information by the second.

All at once, the happiness seemed to be drained from the room. Everything got darker, as though the sun had slipped behind a cloud, smiles faded, and the confetti ceased to be a mark of their fun and became a mess they'd have to clean up. At first, Harry thought it was just him, but it was clear from the looks on Ron and Hermione's faces that their moment of bliss had faded, replaced by harsh reality.

"So, this riot," Harry prompted with a sigh.

"Diagon Alley in an hour or two," Hermione replied as she gave her wand a complicated wave and vanished the confetti from Ron's bed then turned to do the same to Harry's.

"And you're going to go with the Muggle-borns," Harry inferred, eying her sadly.

"You can't stop me," Hermione said stiffly.

"I know," Harry sighed.

"We should probably get ready," Ron offered, not looking at Hermione.

Hermione nodded and left so they could change, siphoning confetti from the ground as she went. Harry and Ron dressed in silence, barely even looking at each other until Harry glanced up from tying his shoe and saw Ron with his hand on the doorknob.

"Ron, wait a second," Harry said, abandoning his shoe and diving into his trunk. After a few seconds of searching he found what he'd been looking for and tossed it to Ron, which he soon realized wasn't the best idea because his invisibility cloak unfurled in flight, making it much harder to see, much less catch. However, after two years of playing Keeper, Ron could catch almost anything lobbed in his general direction.

"What do I need this for?" Ron asked, staring through his hand, which Harry assumed was holding the cloak. "Do you really think the Muggle-borns will come after me?"

"Actually, I thought, since Hermione is going to be with them, and it could be dangerous, you might want to-"

"Thanks mate," Ron said, cutting Harry off once he understood his meaning.

"Don't mention it," Harry replied, returning his attention to his shoe.

"What about you, though?" Ron pointed out.

"What I'm doing," Harry said, "invisibility won't help."

-------------------

"Excuse me," Harry said politely to a woman who happened to start browsing near him in Flourish and Blotts, "but-"

He was cut off by a squeak and a crash and cringed. It had only taken her three words to look up and recognize him, probably a new record. Then, of course, she had dropped her bag of beetle eyes in surprise, which burst open and now she was scrambling around the floor on her hands and knees trying to collect them, hindered by her shaking hands, which seemed to be refusing to grasp anything smaller than a book. Harry sighed and reached for his wand, paused, supposing that if he left now he might make a clean getaway, then berated himself, pulled out his wand, returned the beetle eyes to their bag with a single swish. Then, supposing he might as well do the thing properly, held out a hand to help her up. She took it and stood, looking at him as though he were a knight in shining armor come to whisk him away to his magical castle. Growing more uncomfortable with every passing second, Harry invented a previous engagement and excused himself.

Percy had said that Harry had the fame and influence to move people, but Harry was coming to believe that Percy had rather misjudged the nature of Harry's fame. It wasn't the sort where people yell at everyone around to be quiet, drop whatever they're doing, and hang on to his every word. It was the type where people squeak, drop whatever they're holding, and ask him to sign everything they can think of.

Harry had spoken to perhaps twenty people that day and achieved nothing except for an informal poll of what people think of him. Of those twenty, seven had shaken his hand and thanked him for defeating Voldemort, five had said they only reason they could sleep at night was because they knew he was out there protecting them, four had asked for autographs and pictures, three had simply stared at him in awe, and Harry was taken by surprise by the last one, who pulled a wand on him. Fortunately, on guard or off, Harry's reflexes were unmatched and he'd left his would be assailant to figure out how to get his wand off the roof of Gringotts. Harry tried not to wonder if this sort of thing would continue for the rest of his life.

After nearly on hour in Diagon Alley trying to start a conversation with anyone he could find, Harry still hadn't made any progress toward implementing Percy's plan. No one he'd spoken to had let him get much further than a greeting and Harry was starting to get worried. If Hermione's estimate was correct then the riot could start any minute and he still had no idea how he was going to keep things from getting violent. Seeking a place to think up a new plan, Harry wandered into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and was almost immediately accosted by one of the twins.

"Harry! What brings you to our humble shop?"

"Needed a place to think, Fred," Harry sighed.

"I'm George," he replied, sounding hurt.

"You're not," Harry replied dully

"Well spotted," Fred admitted. "But I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place entirely. There's absolutely no thinking allowed in here."

"It's better than out there," Harry said. "Everyone stands around and watches me; I think I even saw one bloke with a pair of omnioculars. I tripped over a loose cobblestone in front of Madame Malkin's and I'll bet its front page news tomorrow, along with fifty demands for that tile to be fixed. I can see it now, _Boy Who Lived Nearly Felled by a Rock. Public in Uproar_."

"Shouldn't have lent that cloak of yours to Ron, then, mate," Fred offered, patting Harry's shoulder.

"You've seen Ron?" Harry asked.

"Well, I didn't actually see him," Fred pointed out. "I think that might have been the point."

"Fine," Harry replied. "You've heard from Ron. Do you know about the riot?"

"Ron warned us," Fred said. "Do you need a few extra wands out there?"

"The plan isn't to fight them," Harry sighed. "Or the Aurors," he added, catching Fred's look. "And that's about as far as the plan gets, but somehow I have to keep things from getting out of hand and depose Scrimgeour."

Fred gaped at him for a moment. "That's ambitious."

"I know," Harry muttered.

"Well, you might want to plan a little faster," Fred added urgently, looking past Harry to the window.

Harry turned around and immediately knew what had caught Fred's attention: several angry looking people were walking past the window, shooting sparks into the air. Forcing down his fear and doubt, Harry nodded his farewell to Fred and stepped outside.

The mood on the street couldn't have been more different from when Harry left a few minutes previous. The cheery demeanor of the shoppers going about their business had evaporated. Hardened by two years of open war, most people had formed up into protective groups and slunk to the edge of the street to allow the swelling mass of protestors past. A collection of sparks was gathering above their heads, spelling out "Mug_gle-born rights!" " Blood's got nothing to do with it!" "We aren't Mudbloods!"_ and several other less polite phrases.

As Harry looked into the crowd he thought he caught a glimpse of a head of bushy hair, but then he blinked and he couldn't find her again.

The shouts of those in the mob grew steadily louder until some unseen hand picked up one of the tables from in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and sent it flying through the front window of Madam Malkin's. It was as though a dam had been broken. Before much longer there wasn't a table or chair standing in the area and most of the nearby windows had been broken. Harry had half a mind to remain where he was and defend Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but the sight of a side scuffle between five Muggle-borns and Florean Fortescue changed his mind: if he was going to have any hope of stopping this he would have to do it before things got too far out of hand. As though to prod him into action even faster, Harry felt a prickle on the back of his neck and found that an anti-Disapparation ward had been placed over the area. In all likelihood the Aurors had already arrived.

Ducking a spray of shattered glass, Harry raced forward into the fray, tapping his wand to his throat.

"Stop!" he shouted.

Amazingly, many people did stop as Harry's magically amplified voice echoed around them. Unfortunately, Harry had been correct in his guess about the Aurors, and they did not heed his command. Already several Muggle-borns on the edges of the mob had been stunned and tied in ropes as the Aurors approached from all possible sides.

"Everybody stop!" Harry yelled desperately, trying not to stutter when he heard his own voice echo back at him. "I am Harry Potter. I saved you from Voldemort and I'm about to save you from yourselves. You will listen to what I have to say."

Amazingly, Muggle-borns, shoppers, and Aurors alike all stopped what they were doing and turned to face him, and in that moment Harry became keenly aware that he had no idea what to say.

"Right then," Harry continued, stalling just long enough to think of a place to start.

"Look at yourselves. Three weeks ago we were all on the same side. Ending the war was supposed to put a stop to fighting, not encourage it to continue in a different way.

"Muggle-borns, the right's you're fighting for should have been given to you a long time ago, but if you insist on getting them through violence and fear then you are no better than Death Eaters. It might seem like taking up wands is the only way to achieve anything because that's all that's happened for the past two years, but that's not the only option. I mean, I got you lot to stand down just by asking you to.

"I think we've been fighting so long that we've forgotten that just because we don't know someone doesn't make them a Death Eater. The Ministry, for all its faults and forms and bureaucracies, is not made up of Death Eaters. It helped us through the war and it can help you now.

"Aurors, you ran in here, wands aloft, just the way you did during the final battle, but these aren't Death Eaters you're fighting. I imagine some of you were about to arrest your friends. I know how it goes, you had your orders, so you put friendship out of your mind and get on with it, but sometimes orders need to be questioned, and sometimes we need to question the source of those orders.

"I never supported Minister Scrimgeour's methods during the war, but even I have to admit that he helped us survive it. Still, what works in times of war can't always be counted upon in times of peace. There was almost an open conflict today because Scrimgeour ordered the Aurors to arrest the Muggle-borns, an order he made last night, before any of this began. That leads me to think that Scrimgeour might not be the best Minister for us anymore. We need someone willing to negotiate, who'll help the Muggle-borns get the rights they deserve, who'll help us remember what it's like to live in peace, who'll-"

Harry was interrupted by a loud chorus of applause and cheers that swept across the crowd, and he looked around, surprised. While he'd been speaking he'd half expected the Aurors to rush forward to arrest him, but instead the amount of people standing in Diagon Alley listening to him had a least doubled since the last time he'd looked around. All of a sudden, Ron and Hermione appeared next to him and Harry was so grateful to see them that he forgot to wish they'd taken off his cloak someplace less conspicuous. Hermione had tears in her eyes and Ron reached over and shook Harry's hand. Bolstered, Harry continued.

"I'm not sure how many people know this, but I'm a half-blood. My Father was pureblood. When Voldemort came to our door he died trying to give my Mum enough time to escape with me. My Mother was Muggle-born. She refused to step aside and let Voldemort kill me, even when he promised to let her live. She's the reason I didn't die when Voldemort cursed me. So you see, the blood doesn't matter. No matter who we are and who our parents were, we can achieve great things when we work together, when…when we love each other. We won a war; we stopped the most powerful Dark Lord in a century. Surely we can work through prejudices against Muggle-borns without lifting our wands. It might take awhile and it won't be easy, but all we need is to listen to each other, starting right now. And if we do, then…then we'll be alright. We just had a war, don't been so keen to start another one."

Harry's words were followed by cheers, the volume of which he had never heard before, but he couldn't look around to see just how many people he'd been speaking to because Hermione had clamped her arms around his neck and was hugging him so tightly that it was difficult to breathe.

"Percy was right," Hermione finally whispered as she pulled away.

"Thanks," Harry replied, turning to Ron, who also gave him a brief hug.

The crowd began to approach, hoping to shake his hand and thank him for helping everyone see reason. Harry did his best to humor them, but was more moved to see the Aurors apologizing as they freed the Muggle-borns they'd arrested. He had to look away, blinking rapidly when he caught a glimpse of a few Muggle-borns helping to repair the damage to Madame Malkin's.

Over the next few hours hundreds of witches and wizards helped repair the damage to the shops. The wizard at the post office said he'd never before seen so much demand for owls as people composed letters to the Minister, requesting his resignation.

Diagon Alley was repaired in a remarkably short amount of time, but most people didn't leave afterwards. Instead, they stayed to speak to people and get to know them. Hermione was only too eager to join in and even Ron looked a bit excited, but Harry was a bit hesitant. He knew how encounters like that usually went, but this time he was pleasantly surprised to discover that once people got over the shock of finding him talking to them, they were happy to talk back and even had some interesting things to share. Harry and Ron were deep in discussion with a former beater from the Holyhead Harpies who seemed to know everything about brooms when George came along and said that Mrs. Weasley had asked them to come back to the Burrow.

They excused themselves and went to find Hermione and were quite surprised to discover her in a heated but friendly conversation with Millicent Bulstrode. Harry didn't realize until that moment that, even though things wouldn't be easy, the worst of it was over and things would get better from here. He was very quiet during the Apparation home as he pondered that and was a bit delayed in realizing that Ginny had thrown her arms around his neck, but she was so excited and happy that she didn't even notice.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George stepped into the kitchen, where Percy, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and an elaborate feast were waiting for them. It must have been the third such meal they'd had in the past few weeks, but aside form being a pleasant way to celebrate, Harry was coming to realize that that it was Mrs. Weasley's way of thanking them.

The afternoon was largely uneventful. Fred and George returned to their shop after lunch and Harry, Ron, and Ginny started a spirited game of Quidditch up in the paddock. It ended abruptly when Ginny nearly fell off her broom in surprise at seeing Ron pull out his wand and summon the football they'd been using as a Quaffle after he dropped it. While she was telling him off for it, he realized that in the excitement of the morning he'd quite forgotten to track down the people who'd figured out he couldn't do magic and tell them he could again. After he left, Harry and Ginny agreed that there wasn't much point in a two man game of Quidditch so they returned to the Burrow as well.

Inside, they found an ecstatic looking Hermione wandering around with a parchment and quill in hand, reciting bits of Harry's speech that even he couldn't remember saying. Harry stopped her long enough to glance at the parchment and realize that she was making a list of things she'd like to see changed about the way Muggle-borns are treated.

While Harry was focused on Hermione, Ginny had been distracted by her mother, who came along bearing her Hogwarts letter. Ginny ripped it open, read it, and stayed only long enough to report that she was still Quidditch captain before racing up to her room, presumably to plan a strategy for the year. Hermione returned to her list, leaving Harry feeling a bit useless. He supposed that if he wanted to survive Auror training he'd have to do some study before it started, but the idea didn't appeal to him.

Harry briefly considered returning to Diagon Alley to see if there was anything left to be done there, or perhaps going to Hogsmeade, but he was stopped by an owl with a letter addressed to him in a hand he didn't recognize.

Curiously, Harry pulled out the letter. Aside from a Ministry of Magic seal and an unintelligible signature, there were only two words, "_Well played_." He still couldn't be sure, but now that he had a suspicion who had written this, Harry thought he could distinguish the signature: Rufus Scrimgeour.

Harry didn't quite realize what the letter meant until an hour later when the _Evening Prophet_ arrived.

Mr. Weasley paid the owl but took one look at the paper and gave it immediately to Harry, who was playing exploding snap on the living room floor with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Harry glanced at the front page and was confronted with an image of himself, speaking desperately to an awestruck group of people in Diagon Alley. The headline read: "_Harry Potter begs for an end to violence in Muggle-born dispute: Minister steps down_."

Harry must have stared at that for a bit too long, because Hermione sighed and snatched the paper away from him before he'd quite managed to comprehend the second part of the headline. Harry, Ron, and Ginny knew from experience that Hermione would not be distracted while she was reading, so they shrugged and continued with the game until it got back around to her turn. Ginny leaned over to check the length of the article, which Harry vaguely remembered taking up the entire front page. She shook her head and they returned to the game, but it wasn't nearly as fun with only three people and before long they were throwing cards at each other instead. Hermione distracted them a few minutes later by suddenly bursting out laughing. It was somewhat unfortunate because Ginny had chosen the moment previous to expertly lob a card at Harry's nose and he was so surprised by Hermione's outburst that he wasn't quite quick enough to get out of the way and, naturally, the card exploded on impact.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, gingerly touching his nose.

Still smiling gleefully, Hermione laid down the paper in front of her, pointed to a spot a little over half way through the article, and read, "_Scrimgeour's last act as Minister was to dismiss Chief Witch Dolores Umbridge from the Wizengamot_."

"Scrimgeour fired Umbridge?" Ron asked happily. "Merlin, that's perfect!"

It all got funnier a few minutes later when an owl burst through an open window, carrying a bright red envelope with Harry's name on it.

Harry had never received a howler before and was a bit worried until he realized where he'd seen the flowery handwriting before. He looked up and saw that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny already had their hands over their ears. Ron nodded encouragingly at him, so Harry ripped open the envelope, tossed it on the floor in front of him, and covered his ears just fast enough to avoid hearing the full force of Umbridge's overly sweet voice.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

The family pictures above the fireplace rattled ominously and even though he had his ears covered it still felt to Harry as though she were speaking inside his brain and he was fairly certain that he could feel his eyeballs rattling in his sockets.

"YOU HAVE CROSSED THE LINE THIS TIME, BOY! WHAT YOU HAVE DONE IS NOTHING SHORT OF CRIMINAL AND I WILL NOT REST UNTIL I'M CERTAIN YOU WILL BE LOCKED IN SAINT MUNGO'S FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS, OR, BETTER YET, AZKABAN! I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE FROM THE START, NOW EVERYONE WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO BELIEVE ME! YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny kept their hands over their ears a moment longer, just in case she wasn't finished yet, but it seemed that she was.

"Don't know if I've ever heard her that angry before," Ron said, a little louder than usual, cuffing himself in the side of the head as though that would stop his ears ringing.

"I wonder how she thinks she'll be able to toss me in Azkaban," Harry replied. "She didn't seem to realize that she wasn't Chief Witch anymore."

"Was that Dolores Umbridge?" Mr. Weasley asked suddenly.

They all turned around, Harry, Ron, and Hermione reaching automatically for their wands, and found Mr. and Mrs. Weasley standing over them. For a moment Harry wondered why he hadn't heard them come in, then his brain caught up with itself and he realized that for the past minute or so he hadn't been able to hear much of anything aside from Umbridge yelling at him.

"Yeah, it was," Harry concluded, releasing his wand in his pocket. "I suppose she's angry with me because Scrimgeour fired her as Chief Witch."

"Umbridge has been sacked?" Mr. Weasley asked at the same moment Ron said, "She's not just angry at you," then, for no particular reason at all, everyone started laughing at once.

Maybe because things finally looked like they might work out for the better, maybe because for once in the entire war something had gone right, but whatever the reason, once they'd started laughing they found it quite impossible to stop. There was freedom in laughter, and now that they'd fought for it for years they weren't about to give it up.

Eventually, however, they had to stop lest they suffocate, and Mrs. Weasley informed them that dinner was nearly ready while dabbing at her eyes with her apron.

Since they'd had a veritable feast for lunch, dinner was a much simpler affair, but Fred, George, and even Percy showed up to enjoy it with them. At Hermione's request, Percy took a few minutes to explain how a new Minister would be appointed. He said that Griselda Marchbanks had been elected temporary Chief Witch and over the next few days the Wizengamot would take nominations for the Minister, requests of the Ministry departments, and opinions of the Wizarding community, then they'd have seven days to deliberate and agree on the next Minister. Then Percy took a sip of his pumpkin juice and turned into a rather confused looking dragonfly.

Over the years, Fred and George had perfected the art of looking innocent when things like this happened, but one didn't have to know them for very long to know that only they could be responsible. Mrs. Weasley looked ready to leap over the table and throttle the both of them and Percy started buzzing angrily around their heads. However, when the spell wore off and Percy returned to his chair it wasn't anger etched across his features. Instead, he was smiling slightly and blinking rapidly, and Harry thought he understood why. Fred and George performed pranks against many people for many reasons, but that time Harry could tell it hadn't been in spite, it was more friendly, like something one brother would do to another. One glance between Ron, Fred, George, and Percy confirmed it. Whatever Ron said Percy sill had to prove three weeks ago, he'd proved it, and more.

-------------------

They rarely saw Hermione over the next few days. She was spending her time with the other Muggle-borns, drafting a list of concerns and workable compromises that they'd present to the Minister as soon as he or she was appointed. All of magical England seemed to be holding its breath for the Wizengamot's decision. The _Daily Prophet_ even stopped their gossip about Harry in favor of running articles about the nominees for Minister and the Wizengamot's deliberations.

Finally, on the last of Percy's promised seven days, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network while eating dinner when a Celestina Warbeck song was interrupted by an official sounding wizard who said the Wizengamot had reached a decision and Marius Randall, formerly of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was the new Minister of Magic. The announcer added that Randall was the first half-blood Minister of Magic in the history of England before allowing the song to continue.

Hermione was on her feet almost immediately. She darted to the pile of articles about the nominees that she'd been keeping, located the one on Randall, skimmed it, then passed it around the table. When the article got to Harry, he had to agree that Randall seemed like a good choice for the job.

Hermione spent the next few days in something of an excited frenzy and Harry and the Weasleys tried to help her however they could, even if it was just listening while she practiced the speech she was going to give the Wizengamot or reminding her that she still needed to eat and sleep sometimes.

Through it all, something wasn't sitting well with Harry, like he'd forgotten something rather important. It was nearly a week before he realized what it was.

"Mr. Weasley, could I talk to you for a minute?" Harry asked that night after dinner.

Mr. Weasley agreed readily and invited Harry out into the garden with him.

It was nearly night, and Harry could barely see a curious gnome come out to greet them. Mr. Weasley knelt down to scratch its head, but it snapped at his fingers when he tried.

Harry must have remained quiet for a bit too long, because Mr. Weasley straightened up, and pulled something out of his pocket. "I wonder if you could tell me what this is."

Caught off guard, Harry took the thing and studied it in the fading light. "It's a remote control," he replied automatically.

"I see," Mr. Weasley said excitedly. "And what does it do?"

"Muggles use it to change the channel on the television," Harry explained, "so they can watch something different," he added, catching Mr. Weasley's uncomprehending look. "You won't be able to see it doing anything unless you have the television that goes with it."

"But it's like a wand that runs off eceltricity?" Mr. Weasley asked, sounded elated.

"I suppose," Harry replied. "It runs off batteries." He pulled the cover off the back and showed Mr. Weasley the batteries arranged there.

"Fascinating!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, taking the remote control and holding it up to the remaining light for inspection.

"I was wondering if you'd heard anything about Tonks," Harry said suddenly, wishing he could have found a kinder way to broach the topic.

Mr. Weasley's shoulders slumped as he looked at Harry and returned the remote control to his pocket.

"I haven't," he replied.

"But it's been over a month, now," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "If she was still alive wouldn't she have told someone by now?"

"That is the popular opinion," Mr. Weasley sighed.

"Alright," Harry replied. "That's all I wanted to know."

Harry turned to the back door, but he only made it a few steps before Mr. Weasley called him back.

"That was a great thing you did, Harry."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Harry replied without turning around.

So Tonks was really gone, then. There was no avoiding it any longer, no more making sorry explanations of shifting it aside in favor of more pressing matters. It had been over a month since that battle. Even if she was captured as a Death Eater that was time enough to convince someone that she was really an Auror. Even if she was lost and hurt it was long enough for her to find her way back. And yet Harry found it impossible to resolve his memory of Tonks with the idea that she could be buried somewhere, still wearing the face of a nameless Death Eater. Even at her worst, when she was pining after Lupin, she was still so alive. Harry half expected to turn around and see her burst through the door, trip over the nearest chair, change her hair to a newly invented color, and greet him with her trademark, "Wotcher!" Unable to help himself, Harry even paused on the bottom step on his way up to Ron's room and turned back to the kitchen, but it wasn't the kitchen he saw.

"_Five," Harry whispered, turning back to Ron and Hermione. The harsh voices of the Death Eaters were filtering down the stairs and around the corner to where they were standing, huddled awkwardly underneath the invisibility cloak on the third floor of Hogwarts._

"_We can't go around," Hermione point out desperately, "all the other secret passageways are guarded as well."_

"_We'll just have to fight them," Harry replied. Ron and Hermione nodded gamely._

_Bunching together, they crept out from behind their cover and made their way as far up the staircase as they could without alerting the Death Eaters, then, after a silent count of three, Hermione whipped the invisibility cloak off of them and Harry and Ron leapt at the Death Eaters, with Hermione following shortly afterward. However, something happened that they did not expect. One of the Death Eaters, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange only without the maniacal look in her eye, took one look at them and immediately cursed one of the other Death Eaters. He crumpled into a heap and rolled down the stairs._

_A year ago, Harry, Ron, and Hermione might have shown their surprise, dropped their guard, and lost the battle, but their time searching out the Horcruxes had taught them to use any advantage they could and sort out where it came from later._

"_Get out of here!" the woman yelled as she dueled with another Death Eater._

_Ron and Hermione needed no second bidding and they dragged Harry along with them as they made their way up the stairs._

"_Why did she do that?" Harry gasped as soon as they were safely on the next floor and underneath the invisibility cloak. "Betray the other Death Eaters, like that?"_

"_It was Tonks," Ron replied matter of factly._

"_It was?" Harry demanded._

"_It's the only explanation," Hermione agreed._

"_She got one and I got one," Harry said quickly. "Did either of you get your Death Eaters?"_

"_Not quite," Ron admitted. Hermione simply shook her head._

"_Then she's outnumbered down there," Harry exclaimed, and he would have slipped out from under the invisibility cloak and rejoined the fight if Ron and Hermione hadn't stopped him._

"_She's an Auror, she can handle herself," Ron replied._

"_We're right here, we can help her," Harry pointed out._

"_She told us to go," Hermione said. "We're wasting time arguing about this. We need to focus on getting the Marauder's Map so we can find Voldemort."_

His eyes refocusing abruptly, Harry was quite surprised to find himself leaning heavily against the wall, still on the bottom step of the long, winding staircase in the Burrow.

Slowly, Harry made his way up the stairs, scratching the back of his head in a confused sort of way. When he reached the landing in front of Ginny's room, he considered stopping to talk with her, but in the end he passed it by and continued upwards. He and Ginny had spoken many times since he gave his speech in Diagon Alley, but she hadn't yet brought up the subject of their relationship. The entire situation reminded Harry something of his fifth year, and he wasn't sure whether or not he ought to thank Ginny for it.

Ron wasn't in his room when Harry arrived, and it was a bit early for going to bed, but Harry shrugged out of his clothes and into his pajamas then got under the covers anyway. He laid awake for awhile, contemplating wild and daring ways to rescue Tonks, or at least find out what happened to her, but eventually sleep overtook him.

_Cold._

_That was what woke Harry, but it was the unforgiving floor and the stiffness in his bound limbs that kept him that way. His glasses had been knocked askew and he awkwardly replaced them even though there was nothing much to see, the room was nearly dark. However, he could sense someone moving around in the shadows._

"_So nice of you to join me."_

"_Voldemort!" Harry yelped as he realized the identity of his company._

"_We really must stop meeting like this," Voldemort hissed. "I'll have to see what I can do about it."_

"_If you're going to kill me at least make a proper duel of it," Harry suggested desperately. "Only a coward would kill someone who can't fight ba-"_

_But it was no use. A bolt of red light erupted from somewhere in the shadows. It shot straight towards Harry and there was nothing he could do to stop it._

Harry sat bolt upright and nearly cried out in surprise when his cot emitted a complaining groan at the change in weight. He lifted a shaking hand to his forehead and discovered both to be covered in cold sweat.

A full moon that would never haunt Professor Lupin again was partially visible at the edge of window and Harry could hear rather than see Ron snoring gently across the room, untroubled by the nightmares that plagued Harry.

Heart still beating faster than usual, Harry lay back down and tried to clear the memory from his mind. Still, he knew that this wasn't the first time he'd been visited by such a nightmare, and it wouldn't be the last.

-------------------

-------------------

Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone once again for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you're feeling a bit unsatisfied with this conclusion I apologize and direct you to "The End," another one of my stories, which picks up almost exactly where "The Interlude" leaves off, except for two months later.

Also, if you're interested, the story in this little universe I created is not quite finished. I also have a one shot conclusion in the works, which takes place a few weeks after "The End." It's called "Coda" and hopefully will be finished in the next few weeks. Fingers crossed.

Aside from "Coda," some of you might also be interested to hear about another story I've been working on, called "Variations," which basically takes my version of the final battle as Harry remembers it in "The End," and tells it thirteen times from the perspective of thirteen different people. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten very far on it yet, and I'm currently hard at work learning the origin of the phrase "it's not rocket science," by studying what, exactly, is rocket science. Thus, I'm a little busy. However, it is my intention to finish posting "Variations" before Deathly Hallows is released, because that book will no doubt make Variations a bit pointless. Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is, if you'd like to read "Coda" or "Variations" but are worried about not being able to find it, leave me a way to contact you and I'll let you know when I go up.

Thanks for reading!


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